


Partnered

by K_K_TiBal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A very gay deus ex machina, Dean/Castiel Reverse Bang, Demiromantic Dean Winchester, Demisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Detective Castiel, Detective Dean Winchester, Drug Use, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Donna Hanscum/Jody Mills, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Suburbia, Undercover, Undercover Cops, Undercover as Married, Undercover as a Couple, but neither dean nor cas use them, lieutenant Castiel, overdose mentions, sorry I promise i'm not a writer for the TV show, they're investigating drugs, those are implied but not specifically said, undercover as rich people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 11:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14976527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_K_TiBal/pseuds/K_K_TiBal
Summary: Dean didn't think that his life as a detective could get much worse after Castiel was promoted to lieutenant.Castiel was a stickler for the rules, had no sense of humour, and never seemed to give Dean a break, even though they used to be partners.But then, despite all of their questionable history, the two are asked to go undercover on a case in the wealthy suburbs of California. . . as a married couple.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE shout out to the incredible vyxon7 for drawing the AMAZING art piece I had the honor of choosing for this year's Dean/Castiel Reverse Bang challenge! I had a ton of fun creating a fic for it, and it wouldn't have been possible without her :)  
> [Art Masterpost.](http://vyxon7.tumblr.com/post/175083875286/first-art-i-made-for-this-years)  
> A big thanks to whelvenwings, for ALWAYS being my incredible beta reader, even when time is short. You da bomb. 
> 
> As always, I can be found on tumblr at thebloggerbloggerfun!  
> Thanks for reading!

There’s an interesting phenomenon that happens with rain.

On calm nights, when one is at home in bed and just finishing the season finale of _Doctor Sexy MD,_ say, and one is ready to slip into unconsciousness, the sound of rain tapping against the roof above is a gentle lullaby as it soothes the way to sleep.

On the other side of the coin, when one has been trapped in a patrol car for seven hours on a stakeout with four cups of coffee and a questionable ham sandwich in one’s system as well as a disgruntled newbie sitting in the passenger seat, the sound of rain incessantly pinging against the the top of the car quickly begins to grate on one’s nerves. The sound miraculously becomes less lullaby and more screeching dubstep on repeat.

Dean Winchester was a keen observer of this phenomenon. His life just gave him so many opportunities to gather the data.

“I’m so _fucking_ bored.”

Dean didn’t even bother to spare a glance in Jo’s direction as he inhaled deeply.

It had got old the second time she’d said it - and it was now the fifth.

“Yeah, well tough nuts, rookie,” Dean said, peering through the binoculars again just for something to do. “Boring comes with the job sometimes.”

Dean was sympathetic, he really was. He remembered his first time on a stakeout and how long the hours had felt while nothing happened. The dread of the entire job just being waiting and paperwork had been almost enough to make him quit right then and there, but luckily he’d powered through.

Now, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Maybe our intel was bad and this was all for nothing,” Jo grumbled, crumpling up a piece of notebook paper into a ball and bouncing it off the dashboard.

“Yeah, it might be. It usually is,” Dean said with a noncommittal shrug. “But you’ve got to be ready for the off-chance that it’s not.”

He brought the binoculars up to his face again when he caught sight of movement just outside the door of the apartment complex he’d become _intimately_ familiar with over the few days. He knew the number of bricks between each window. He knew when the lights in each apartment would turn off for the night, and what time to look away because the dude in number seven showered before going to bed and apparently believed in air-drying his whole naked body. He knew that the note the door into the building creaked out every time it was opened was a B flat.

Well, probably.

And what he knew most of all was that the movement he saw now was out of the ordinary. Significantly so.

“I’ve got movement,” he murmured.

“Probably a cat.”

“It’s raining; it’s not a cat.” Dean reached out and nudged her lightly on the shoulder without looking away. “Hey, hey - it’s him, Harvelle.”

Behind him, Dean heard a loud thud, which was probably Jo hitting herself on something in her eagerness.

“Wait, _really?”_

“Yes, _really.”_ Dean tossed her the binoculars as he picked up the radio and held it up to his lips. “This is Detective Winchester. I’ve got eyes on Johnson and I’m about to make a move. Requesting backup.”

“ _Backup is on its way. Should be just a few minutes out.”_

 _“_ Ten-four.”

Dean hung up the radio receiver and turned to Jo, who looked a little wide-eyed and panicky now that the culmination of a successful stakeout had fallen on their shoulders.

“It’s not boring anymore.” He clapped her on the shoulder with a grin. “You ready to go in?”

Jo was still for just a moment before seemingly finding her resolve and nodding once.

“Let’s get that son of a bitch.”

If she hadn’t spent the better part of the past few hours complaining about being bored, Dean would have been almost proud.

“Alright, follow my lead.”

The distant figure that was Brady Johnson - prolific dogfighting ringleader with two warrants for his arrest on his head - was leaning against the side of the apartment complex, huddled under a dry spot, supposedly waiting to meet someone to exchange bet money. He was lighting up a cigarette, and seemed unaware of their presence as they got out of the car.

It didn’t take too long of them walking in his direction for Dean to see Brady tense, though, apparently realizing that something wasn’t right - which wasn’t a huge stretch when two figures were walking towards you in the pouring rain.

“Brady Johnson, you’re under arrest!” Dean called out, his hand hovering above the gun on his hip just in case things got dicey.

Brady bolted.

“Here we go!” Dean said, and frantically waved Jo onward as he took off in pursuit down a backway behind the apartment complex. “Go around and cut him off!”

Around the station, Dean frequently heard different officers complain about the times when perps took off running and they had to pursue on foot, but Dean didn’t mind it. The adrenaline rush that these exciting moments brought him were enough of a thrill to get him through all of the days of paperwork and waiting.

This was the high point.

Dean raced around the corner of the apartments with an unprofessional grin on his face, but there wasn’t anyone around to see anyway, so he let himself get caught up in the chase.

“Brady Johnson, stand down!” he yelled as he barrelled forward, just in time to see him toss an overflowing trash can directly in his path to try and slow him down, but Dean cleared it easily.

_Amateur._

Dean put on a burst of speed, pleased to note that he seemed to be outpacing Johnson. Good to know that organizing dog fights didn’t help one in the athletic prowess department.

Brady knocked over another trash can, smaller this time, and made a sharp right turn.

He and Jo had been scouting out the area for a while now, and he knew that a right turn at the end of the alley meant that he’d have a long stretch of road, or the option to turn right down another alleyway right before the sketchy butcher shop, but he might -

Dean turned the corner, skidding to a sudden stop when he saw Johnson, breathing heavily and holding a gun. It was pointed at Dean.

The rain poured down on the two of them, and a low groan of thunder rolled. Dean, breathing hard, didn’t move. In his head, he was running through options. If he made a break for where Johnson was standing and tried to knock the gun out of his hand, would Johnson have time to shoot? Would he have the guts?

“You have - have three seconds to turn around and walk away,” Brady said, panting for breath as he spoke.

“Listen, Brady -” Dean tried, hoping to reason with the guy.

“One.”

Dean held up his hands in a show of good faith, but there was no way in hell he was turning his back on someone with a gun.

 _Oh, the adrenaline rush_.

“You don’t want killing a cop to go on your record, do you?” Dean reasoned, licking some of the rainwater away from his lips and trying to decide how fast he could get to his own gun. Probably not fast enough, but it would be exhilarating to give it a shot.

No pun intended.

“ _Two.”_

“Come on, Brady.” Dean could see Brady’s hands were shaking as he held the gun. The guy obviously didn’t get his hands very dirty in this dog fighting community. At best, he probably just kept the numbers in order for the head honchos. “Put it down.”

Brady’s eyes searched up to Dean’s hands and then fell to meet Dean’s gaze again. He looked panicked, no determination, no resolution. He wasn’t going to do it.

Was he?

“Thr-”

Another gun swung into view from the alleyway behind Brady.

“Police. Drop the gun, asshole,” Jo said, stepping into full view.

Brady closed his eyes and swallowed as he slowly sank to his knees and tossed the gun a few feet away. Dean dropped his hands and let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

That had been close.  

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law -” Jo took Brady’s hands and roughly brought them from their position above his head to behind his back, cuffing him quickly as she finished the Miranda rights.

“Not bad, rookie,” Dean said, grinning as he gave her a firm pat on the shoulder and bent over briefly to catch his breath, giving a loud whoop up towards the rain as he straightened.

Jo side-eyed him as she pushed Brady forwards, leading him towards their squad car.

“I think you enjoy this too much,” she muttered, but there was a smile playing on her lips.

“I don’t think you enjoy it _enough_ ,” Dean said, collecting the abandoned gun and taking Brady’s other arm. “You’re a sneaky bastard, Brady. But I knew we’d catch up with you in the end. Let’s get you back to the station.”

Brady didn’t respond, not that Dean expected him to.

“Lieutenant Novak will be pretty impressed, won’t he?” Jo said, hope in her voice.

And just like that, Dean’s spirits went from over-the-moon to under-the-sea and any semblance of a good mood vanished.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Harvelle.” Dean said, rolling his eyes to no one in particular as they reached the patrol car. “Nothing impresses the great Lieutenant Novak.”

***

“You were overly reckless and if your _junior partner_ hadn’t been there to deescalate the situation, it very well may have cost this force an officer.”

Stories were told about the intensity of Lieutenant Novak’s stare - and his ability to make even the most competent officer feel extremely small - but Dean crossed his arms and glared back, determined to defend himself. It had been a long time since Novak had been able to intimidate him.

“The situation was under control the entire time, Lieutenant,” Dean said, standing his ground on the other side of the table as the entire precinct around them busied themselves and pretended not to be listening in. “I made an assessment and acted on instinct. Johnson wouldn’t have pulled the trigger on a cop. He’s probably never shot anyone in his life.”

“It wasn’t a risk you should have gambled on,” Lieutenant Novak said, thumbing through the police report Dean had turned in for what was probably the fourth time. “You’re lucky to be alive right now, Detective Winchester.”

“Oh, come on!” Dean said, nearly in disbelief. “It was nothing! I’m fine!”

“This time, yes. But what about next time? Or the next?” Lieutenant Novak looked up from the folder and and flipped it closed, his mouth a tight frown. “It’s unacceptable, Detective. Learn to control yourself.”

Dean bit back a snarky retort that he’d had formed from the moment the Lieutenant had started disagreeing with him, and took a deep breath to calm himself down.

“He wasn’t gonna pull the trigger, Cas,” Dean said, dropping the tough-guy posture and lowering his voice so only the two of them could hear. “I promise he wasn’t.”

Castiel looked back and for a moment, Dean saw a glimmer of the Cas he used to know in his eyes - before he dropped his gaze back down to the paperwork at his desk.

“Get back to work, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in the pockets of his still-soaked jacket before leaving Castiel’s space and dropping down in his own chair at his desk on the other side of the room, where Jo was waiting for him.

Jo raised an eyebrow, looking from Dean to Castiel incredulously.

“And you said you guys were partners before he got promoted?” she murmured, keeping her voice low. “What happened?”

Dean folded his arms against his chest and shot Castiel a glare from across the room, even though he seemed to specifically not be looking over in Dean’s direction.

Leave it to Castiel to ruin any semblance of a good day he was having.

“He got promoted.”


	2. Chapter 2

Despite Castiel’s original damper on how the Johnson case was handled, Dean had been congratulated no less than seven times over the next twenty-four hours on finally making a breakthrough on the dogfighting circle in the area. Brady Johnson had agreed to exchange names and dates for a lighter sentence, so everyone involved in the case was feeling pretty damn good about themselves. 

Dean had managed to get most of his paperwork squared away by the end of the day, and the rest he could finish easily tomorrow. All he wanted to do now was stretch out on his couch with a microwavable burrito, and marathon the latest season of  _ Doctor Sexy MD  _ on the DVD that had arrived in the mail the day before. 

“Lieutenant Novak, Detective Winchester.” Dean looked up from packing away his stuff and saw Captain Henriksen standing in the doorway to his office, motioning them towards him. “I’d like to speak to you both in my office, please.” 

A glance over at Castiel earned Dean no information, as Castiel’s mouth was pulled into a small frown, and he appeared to be just as confused as Dean was. He met Dean’s gaze flatly, blinked, and then headed for Henriksen’s office.

Dean caught Jo’s eye, who only shrugged, her keen eyes curious. 

Okay. This could only be either really good, or really bad, and Dean was more inclined to think the latter. And Castiel might be as unreadable as a sphinx with that blank expression of his, but if Dean was in trouble, then he knew exactly who he’d have to blame.

Dean dropped his bag back down onto his desk and made his way over to the Captain’s office, walking through the door after Castiel. 

“Please, sit down,” Captain Henriksen said, gesturing towards the two chairs facing his desk. 

Both Dean and Castiel sat in unison, pointedly not looking at each other.

Captain Henriksen sat opposite them and let out a long breath. 

“First of all, congratulations on the Johnson case, Winchester. You and Harvelle did good work.” 

Dean let himself relax in his chair a little at the praise. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. Maybe Henriksen was even going to tell Cas to get off his back about it. 

“Thank you, sir,” Dean said with a nod of appreciation. He uncrossed his arms, and folded his hands in his lap, instead.

“Now, the reason I’ve called you in here is because I want to offer the both of you a unique job opportunity.” Captain Henriksen pulled out a thick file from his desk drawer and began flipping through the pages. “Each of you is an extremely skilled officer and you were chosen because my superiors and I think you both will be perfect for the task at hand.”

The pride Dean felt at the compliment was mingled with the confusion of hearing Captain Henriksen talk about the two of them like they were a package deal. Was he planning on having them be partners again? Or be some sort of special task force?

Henriksen pulled a picture out of the file and and placed it on the table in front of them. 

Dean leaned closer to get a good look and cocked his head to the side when he realized it was a picture of a crime scene. There was a well-dressed man in a suit laying on his side with vomit in a puddle around him. 

“This is Edgar Floyd,” Henriksen said. “He was an up and coming politician in the Palo Alto area. Died of a drug overdose.”

“Are you suspecting foul play?” Castiel asked, leaning forward in his chair. 

“It’s a possibility, as his is the most recent of four overdose cases in the past six months among the more…. wealthy in the area.” Henriksen frowned as he stared down at the picture. “The stuff that we’ve tested in each of their systems is a very strong strain of methamphetamine. We need to find out where it’s coming from and put a stop to it, but the locals, including the friends and family of each of the deceased… they know more than they’re saying. Which is not a lot.”

“Sounds like they don’t want the dealer caught.” Dean said with a shrug. “Just twist their arm a little.”

“It sounds to  _ me -”  _ Castiel said, and Dean could already hear the high-and-mighty in his voice, “that what the Captain is saying is that they can’t ‘twist their arm’, as you say, Dean. They probably need to tread lightly among these people.” 

“‘What, ‘cause they’re rich?” Dean scoffed, but quieted when the Captain raised an eyebrow. “Oh.”

“This is a delicate situation, unfortunately.” Henriksen shook his head, “And we will obviously do everything we can to bring the dealer to justice with the full extent of the law, but there is the possibility that we’ll either scare away anyone with information, or twist an arm belonging to a person that can make life very difficult for the police department.”

“So, you want us to schmooze them?” Dean asked. “‘Cause I can do that alright, but I gotta say,  I question your choice in Novak.”

Dean turned to wink at him, but all he got in return was a deepened frown. 

“I want to know if you’d both be willing to go undercover to find out who the supplier is,” Henriksen said, clasping his hands in front of himself.

Undercover? 

Dean raised his eyebrows as far as they would go and searched the Captain’s face for any sign that he was kidding - that he was going to take back the most exciting thing that had ever been offered to him, and probably ever would be. 

“Whoa, really?” 

“Yes.” Henriksen nodded, pulling out two smaller folders from the larger one. “We think that the both of you together will make an excellent team. Winchester, you’re personable. You talk to people easily and you’ve got a lot of experience under your belt that we think will come in handy. Lieutenant Novak also has that same experience, but he’s a little more level-headed and he has the added bonus of having already been a UC in the past.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open as he swung around to look at the man he’d been working with on the force for the better part of five years. Five  _ years _ and Dean had had  _ no  _ idea that Castiel had been undercover before. 

“ _ What _ ? When did you go undercover?”

“Thank you, sir,” Castiel said, ignoring Dean’s outburst. “I agree with your reasoning.” 

“Good.” Henriksen handed each of them a folder. “Should you both decide to accept, these will be your new identities. You’ll become James and Michael Milton.” 

Dean frowned as he stared down at the shiny new license and credit card attached to the file with _ Michael Milton _ written on them. Everything looked squared away, except -

“Captain,” Dean licked his lips and held up the false driver's license. “Novak and I look nothing alike. Won’t people know that we’re not brothers, like… right away?”

Captain Henriksen stared at him, and glanced down at the file Dean was holding. 

“Ah,” Castiel said. “I see.”

Dean turned to lean over and peek at Castiel’s file - looking to see if his had something that Dean’s was missing for whatever reason, but stopped when Henriksen began speaking again.

“The two of you would be partners,” Henriksen said, like he expected that to clear everything up. 

“Yeah,” Dean said, still waiting for more information. “I mean, I knew that.”

There was a tap on his shoulder and Dean turned to see Castiel pull a paper from the file and hold it up for him to see. 

It was a marriage certificate . 

For one  _ James Milton  _ and  _ Michael Cohen.  _

“Husbands, Dean,” Castiel said, his face an alarmingly neutral contrast to the words he’d just spoken out loud. “We’d be husbands.” 

“We’d... be...” 

Dean stared at the marriage certificate, recognizing what it was and seeing the variation on his fake identity, but it wasn’t clicking together in his brain. 

He and Castiel - 

_ Husbands. _

Dean slowly turned towards Captain Henriksen and steepled his hands together. 

“I have… so many questions.” 

“We want you to infiltrate a wealthy upper-class society in the suburbs of California,” Henriksen explained calmly. “We wanted a way for you both to appear approachable, non-threatening, and trustworthy, while still allowing the two of you to do what you do best in the field.”

Dean blinked. 

“Is that a problem for you, Detective Winchester?” Henriksen asked, raising one of his eyebrows - and Dean felt the soul nearly leave his body when he realized what the incredulous tone that the Captain’s voice was hinting at. 

“Okay,  _ first  _ of all -” Dean said, holding up a finger and nearly knocking the file from his lap as he leaned forward. “- I am an out and proud bisexual, so believe me when I say my… skepticism doesn’t have anything to do with  _ that _ crap and  _ everything _ to do with the guy next to me.” 

Dean shot a dirty look at Castiel, throwing all attempts at professionalism out the window in hopes that it would mean Castiel might be reassigned. Castiel, however, was still staring down at the file, a finger tapping at an edge of the false marriage license before flipping it closed. 

“Look, Captain,” Dean began again. “We just don’t -”

“I’ll do it,” Castiel said, handing the file back to Captain Henriksen, and Dean froze with his mouth half-open. “Thank you for the opportunity, sir. May I be dismissed?”

“Of course. Thank you, Lieutenant.”  

They exchanged nods as Dean scrambled internally to pick up the shards of his argument, which had just been shattered to pieces by a simple acceptance. Castiel always managed to do that - make him look stupid in just a few words. 

Dean watched as Castiel stood and exited the room, and through the window Dean could see him sit back down at his desk and continue with the paperwork he’d previously left. His expression hadn’t changed once through the course of the entire interaction.

Captain Henriksen cleared his throat, and Dean brought his attention back around. He realised with grimace that the Captain had been watching him watch Castiel, a pensive expression on his face.

“Sir,” Dean began, not sure what he wanted to say.

“You have twenty-four hours to let me know your answer, Detective Winchester,” Henriksen said, clasping his hands in front of himself. 

Well, what was the fucking point of that  _ now _ ? Castiel was already on the case, so the only one of the two of them with a chance of being reassigned at this point was Dean. Castiel had already shown him up, just by exploiting the fact that Dean was raising perfectly reasonable doubts about their ability to work well together. Castiel was clever enough to try to get Dean off the case just by making Dean look stupid; he’d probably thoroughly enjoy going and playing a rich dude in a fancy house taking down a drug ring while imagining Dean doing yet another stakeout in the rain.

Dean swallowed. He couldn’t let a little hangup like this be the reason he didn’t get to fulfill his undercover dream. He couldn’t let Castiel get him kicked off this case.

Castiel or no Castiel, he’d have to take this by the horns. 

“No need,” Dean grumbled. “I’ll do it, too.”

“Much appreciated,” Henriksen said with a knowing nod and held his hand out for the file. 

Dean nearly closed it, but paused, staring down at some of the documentation. 

“ _ Hey _ , what the f - why did _ I _ take  _ his  _ name?”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean was almost entirely remade in the span of a week. 

He had been outfitted with an entirely new wardrobe, a new car, and a new identity with a new job and new backstory to memorize. 

Captain Henriksen mentioned that most of the time, when a cop became a UC, they’d immediately grow a beard and get grungier clothing - anything to  _ not  _ look like a cop. This, however, was a special case. 

Dean frowned at the excess of polo shirts and hair-grooming kits, thinking they were a little stereotypical - but it wasn’t like he was going to risk any more arguments with the Captain over it. 

Had Castiel grown a beard when he’d gone undercover? 

Even after a week of knowing that information, a week of mulling it over and trying to think of when it could have been, Dean didn’t have any inkling of when Castiel might have worked an undercover case. They used to be  _ partners, _ for fuck’s sake. He should have known. 

Dean shook his head as he looked down at his phone. 

Anyway, the rebranding was the easy part. 

The hard part was Sam.

The Captain had made it clear that they didn’t know how long the case was going to take, but it might be a few months, so whether or not they wanted to tell their families was up to them. Dean was single and both of his parents had passed away, so no major hangups there, but Sam was obviously important to him - and that’s where the biggest issue was. 

Sam would kick his ass if Dean didn’t tell him. 

“ _ \- yeah, so that’s pretty much it. Nothing too exciting. Oh, I also started taking a sign language class.” _

Dean switched the phone to a different ear as he opened up his refrigerator. 

“A sign language class? Why?”

“ _ You know. It’s a helpful thing to know and it’s really useful in everyday life. “ _

Dean smirked to himself and pulled out a can of beer. 

“So, you met a girl, huh?”

“ _ No, I - well - yes, but... it really  _ is _ useful and kind of a polite language to learn anyway.” _

“Sure, sure. So, what’s her name?” Dean asked, pleased to confirm that his internal Brother Bullshit Detector was still on point. 

There was a long silence followed by a sigh that made Dean smile. 

_ “Eileen.” _

“And she’s deaf?”

_ “Yeah. And amazing.”  _

“Hey, that’s awesome!” Dean opened the beer and cleared his throat. “So, you’re probably in a pretty good mood right now, then.” 

_ “I mean… I guess?” _

“Like  _ how _ good of a mood, would you say?”

_ “Dean…” _

“I’m starting an undercover case soon,” Dean said, trying to get the words out of his mouth as fast as possible. “It’s gonna be fine and it doesn’t seem all that dangerous really, but that’s happening. So, you’re not gonna be able to contact me for a while.” 

The other end of the line went silent. 

“It really is gonna be fine, Sam,” Dean powered on before Sam could voice the doubts he knew he was trying to figure out how to say. “We’re gonna be infiltrating some snobby rich people neighborhood.”

_ “‘We’?” _

Dean brought a hand up to his face and rubbed at his nose. 

“Yeah. It’s gonna be me and Cas going undercover together.”

_ “Oh, thank god.”  _

Dean frowned. 

“What’s  _ that  _ supposed to mean?” he said indignantly. 

_ “Just that, you know. You’ve had some close calls before and they happened a lot less frequently when you and Cas were partners. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”  _

The word  _ partners _ made him wince when he heard it through the phone. Obviously, Sam meant it in the way that they originally were - work partners. Now, he didn’t think that word would ever have the same meaning it once did. Now it would always be, “Wow, remember that time Castiel Novak and I had to pretend to be husbands?”

He was going to omit that small detail in his admission to Sam. 

“Whatever,” he said with an eye roll and kicked back in his kitchen chair. “If that makes you feel better, then yeah. Mr. Promotion is going to be there, holding my hand every step of the way.”

Dean winced and clenched his hand involuntarily. 

No pun intended, of course. 

_ “Dean, are you still going on about that - “ _

“Sure am. Anyway, just wanted to let you know that it might be a while until we can talk again.” Dean took a sip of his beer and stretched an arm over his head. “Any last words you want to get off your chest? Stolen any money from me recently? Are you dying of a mysterious illness?”

Dean could hear Sam let out a breath of amusement. 

_ “No, nothing like that. Just… be careful. Don’t do anything stupid.” _

Cheers to that. 

Dean held up his beer can to absolutely no one. 

“Bitch.” 

_ “Jerk.” _

***

Everything was good to go the next day. 

Dean and Castiel were both given their files and instructions to make the drive to Palo Alto and arrive at a discreet location where they’d meet their handler, a woman neither of them had ever met before - but Dean was assured that she was the best of the best when it came to these sorts of covert operations, and he’d just have to trust that they knew what they were talking about. 

It all came to a culmination when Captain Henriksen gave Castiel the keys to their new car - a blue Prius that Dean already loathed -  and wished them both luck. 

And then they were on their own, and Dean would have felt a whole lot more badass about the situation if he hadn’t been wearing a powder-blue polo. 

“Well. I’ll drive,” Dean said, holding out his hand to Castiel expectantly, and Castiel only looked at the offered hand and raised an eyebrow as though Dean were a child who’d just asked him lend him some money. 

“I don’t think so,” Castiel said, and made his way to the driver’s side. 

“Dude, come on!” Dean said, grabbing Castiel’s shoulder before he reached the door. “I always drive.” 

“I  _ allowed _ you to drive most of the time, yes,” Castiel said, brushing Dean’s hand off. “And now  _ I’m _ going to.” 

“Oh, you  _ allowed _ me to?” Dean said with a scoff. “I wasn’t aware that you had the final say in our partnership. Seems a bit imbalanced.”

Castiel, with his hand still on the handle of the driver’s side dangled the keys in front of Dean’s face. 

“I’ll let you drive - if you answer one question honestly.”

Dean folded his arms in front of his chest. 

“Shoot.”

“Do you want to drive because you like driving or is it because you currently feel emasculated in a polo shirt and a Prius, and you want the control of the car to make up for the lack of control you currently feel in your situation?” 

Dean’s jaw clenched as he stared at the keys, and then walked over to the other side of the car without another word. 

If that’s how Castiel was going to play things, then the next couple of months were going to be hell. 

Dean slid into the passenger seat, refusing to look over as Castiel turned the car on and started the two of them on their journey to Palo Alto.  

Still fuming, Dean tapped his fingers against his knee and glared out the window. How the hell was he supposed to pretend like he and Castiel were in love if Castiel kept trying to torment and undermine him? It wasn’t  _ his _ fault if he thought playing dress up was ridiculous and stereotypical, while Castiel didn’t have a problem with it. 

Though, to be fair, Castiel’s wardrobe mainly consisted of button-ups, which wasn’t all that far from his usual uniform, so only  _ one _ of them was feeling perfectly comfortable in this situation. 

Dean paused his tapping to stare at the gold band he now wore on his left hand. It was a heavy weight that he wasn’t used to - a constant presence and reminder that he was going to be playing a part that he didn’t feel qualified for. Police work? Sure. He could do that no problem. Married life? 

Yikes.

So far, Dean hadn’t ever planned on getting married, ever, in his life. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about much, to be frank. He’d never been serious enough with anyone to give it much of a fighting chance. Lisa had probably been the closest he’d ever come to thinking about marrying, but even then it wasn’t in the forefront of his mind, and now he had to live it with a guy he didn’t even get along with most of the time. 

There was a time when this wouldn’t have been an issue. 

Dean’s frown deepened when he thought of how it used to be when they were partners on the force. They’d definitely had disagreements, but they’d had  _ fun. _ Castiel used to  _ smile _ and they’d been able banter back and forth on a case without someone digging too deeply into a nerve. 

Hell, they used to be  _ friends. _

Being friends on a case like this would at least have been cause for a good laugh - now, it felt like a chore. 

“Feet off the dash, please,” Castiel said, partway through their drive.

Dean turned to glare at Castiel, keeping his feet where they were. If he couldn’t drive, Castiel at least owed him this. 

“Let me live,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. 

Castiel frowned and spared a pointed glance in his direction. 

“You never know who may be watching. We have to be our new identities as often as we can. You’re not Dean, right now. You’re Michael.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah. And I decided that Michael is sloppy and carefree,” Dean retorted. “Sloppy gays exist, you know - don’t be homophobic.”

“I’m not -” Castiel cut himself off and shook his head in exasperation. “I only meant that you should be careful. In my time as a UC, I learned -”

“ _ In my time as a UC,” _ Dean mimicked maturely. “I can already tell that you’re going to hold this over my head during the entire operation.”

“Don’t make this so difficult,” Castiel said, “I have experience in something that you don’t, and I’m only trying to offer you advice on said thing. You never know what small detail could give you away.”

Dean snorted. 

“No offense, but I don’t think snooty rich people are going to be that hard to fool.” Dean adjusted his footing on the dashboard. “And besides, Michael’s backstory involves him getting lucky in investments. If I’m new money, there’s a bit of forgiveness that can be given to his social cues.” 

Castiel’s lips thinned dangerously, but he didn’t say anything to argue. 

Point for Dean. 

Not that he was keeping track. 

“What’s our handler’s name again?” Dean asked when the GPS announced that they were arriving in Palo Alto. 

“Charlotte Bradbury,” Castiel said automatically, without having to check on that information anywhere. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about her.”

“And where are we meeting her?” 

“Did you even read the briefing?”

“Nah, I knew you would.” 

Castiel let out a long breath of air that made Dean add another point in his favor. 

“I’m kidding, of course I read it.” Dean dropped his feet off the dashboard and cracked his back. “Some storage shed, right?”

“Yes,” Castiel said in a clipped tone. “We should get there momentarily.” 

Dean stretched some more as they pulled into the storage facility and parked. 

“You have the key?” 

Castiel pulled a shiny bronze key out of his pocket as they climbed out of the car and began walking down an aisle of blank, taupe-colored garage doors, until Castiel stopped purposefully in front of one, bent down, and unlocked it. 

The garage door was pulled upwards to reveal a decently furnished room with a large rug on the ground, a couch, several lighting fixtures - and a swivel chair in the center, which slowly swung around to reveal a redheaded woman with a confident smirk on her face. 

“Welcome, posers.” 

The woman Dean assumed was Charlotte stood up, and held out a hand in greeting. She was tiny, with an impish face and bright eyes.

“My name’s Charlie, and I’ll be your handler during this case.” She paused and drew back her hand before they could reach it, looking them both up and down. “ _ Boy, _ you look homosexual. Who the hell dressed you and have they ever actually met a gay man?” 

Dean glanced over at Castiel who only shrugged in confusion. 

“Yeah, no, this isn’t going to work,” Charlie said with a shake of her head and pointed at Dean. “You, especially. We gotta get you dressed down just a touch. You’ll keep the khakis but that shirt has to go. I can tell you hate it just from the way you’re holding yourself.” 

“Thank god,” Dean said, instantly relaxing. 

“Again, the name’s Charlie, but I understand your confusion.” She winked and pursed her lips. “Other than that shirt, I don’t think I have any other major complaints… James’s shirt actually isn’t that bad. Can’t go wrong with a button-up, but I’ll still probably give you something more flattering.” 

Dean forced himself not to snicker when Castiel looked down at himself in befuddlement. 

“Anyway, can’t tell you how much I laughed when I was assigned the undercover husbands operation.” Charlie sat back down in her chair and gestured towards the small couch with just enough room for the two of them. “It’s definitely no accident that the lesbian got to run this one, but I’m not complaining.” 

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly as he sat down on the couch, with Castiel close behind him. 

“Alright...” Charlie rubbed her hands together and offered the two of them a small smile. “So, you’ve probably been told that we’ve narrowed down our list of suspects to a single, large and wealthy neighborhood called Skyward Circle. You lovely folks are the brand new owners of a home in the neighborhood that has been on the market for a while due to the recent deaths.”

“Awesome,” Dean said. 

At least he’d be living in style for however long this took. 

“Unfortunately, most of the residents in the neighborhood are going to be pretty untouchable without solid evidence of drug dealing.” Charlie rested her chin on a propped up hand and began batting her eyelashes rapidly. “So, anyway... James, Michael, how did you two meet?” 

“Uh...” Dean sat back, reeling from the sudden change of demeanor and context. 

Shit. What was their cover story again?

“At work,” Castiel said easily. “My legal firm was helping Michael with a countersuit after we were introduced through colleagues.”

“Point goes to James,” Charlie said with a nod in Castiel’s direction. “Gotta be faster on the uptake, Michael.” 

Dean leaned forward in his seat, ready for the next test. 

“Right.” Charlie cleared her throat and she was back to business. “Once you’ve managed to worm your way into their inner circles, we’ll be outfitting you with wiretaps and cameras to get the evidence we need to take the dealer down. What was your first date?”

Dean blinked, thrown off again. First date? They hadn’t planned a first date in the backstory. 

“I took him to the second-nicest restaurant in town, and he thanked me by spilling wine all over my white shirt.” 

Dean frowned, feeling embarrassed for a self that didn’t exist - and yet… why did that trigger some sort of memory? They’d never gone to any kind of fancy restaurant but - Dean let out a chuckle when he figured it out. 

Obviously it hadn’t been a date, but during their first night out as partners Dean had managed to convince Castiel to stop by a burger joint, and he’d accidentally knocked over a milkshake onto the front of Castiel’s uniform. 

“He forgets to mention that it was his  _ own fault _ for sitting so close to the wine in the first place.” Dean rested a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and sighed dramatically. “To this day, he’ll never let me live that down.” 

“Good! Bantering like a couple. I love that.” Charlie crossed her arms with a proud smile. “The first thing we need for you two to do is get a membership at the country club nearby. They all have memberships there and it’ll be easier to get to know everyone if you’re a member. When did you know he was The One?” 

Dean pursed his lips, quickly weaving together a dramatic story about tripping on the sidewalk and being caught in strong arms, but -

“It wasn’t anything big.” Castiel shrugged his shoulders, causing Dean to drop his hand. “He walked into my… law firm one day and I looked up from my desk and saw him smile like he was excited just to see me… and I knew he was it for me.” 

A little too sappy for Dean’s taste, but it wasn’t bad. 

“Awwwww,” Charlie said, her eyes fluttering away again. “And what about you?”

Dean put on a coy smile and winked. 

“He’s loaded. How could I not fall for him?” 

Charlie rolled her eyes, but there was definitely still a smile on her lips. 

“You old romantic.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out something that looked like a burner phone and handed to them. “My number’s already programed into there. Make sure you check in at eleven o’clock pm every single day. If there’s going to be an issue, let me know in advance. James, you work at a law firm so you’ll need to leave the house during work hours at least three days of the week. When’s your anniversary?”

Both Dean and Castiel answered in unison this time. 

“It’s whenever we need an excuse to not be somewhere.”

The file had been clear on that.

Charlie clicked her tongue and shot finger guns in their direction. 

“You guys’ll nail this. As long as you can do this in public.” She paused and tilted her head to the side. “You’ll be able to be affectionate and stuff in in front of people, right? You both seem a teensy bit stiff around each other, no offense.” 

That was the question, wasn’t? The big, million dollar question. 

Dean was a police officer, not an actor. He’d never acted in high school, didn’t even like plays all that much, and Sam claimed that he could always tell when he was lying. He was going to have to  _ really  _ dig deep for this one, and play nice for as long as was necessary for the sake of his career. 

Maybe after all was said and done, he’d finally get the promotion he deserved. 

Maybe he’d finally get the promotion that  _ someone _ had stolen from him. 

“Yeah, whatever.” Dean said, leaning back on the couch nonchalantly. “Wouldn’t be my first relationship with a closed-off alpha male. You shoulda met Donnie.” 

Castiel turned to look at him sharply. 

“Who’s Donnie?”

“What about you, Castiel?” Charlie said, switching to his real name for the first time in a while and pushing past the question. “Do you think you’ll be able to make it realistic?”

Dean raised an eyebrow at Castiel, daring him to have to admit that he couldn’t do it, and almost wishing he would. 

Castiel held his gaze for a silent moment before nodding once. 

“Yes.” 

“Alright, well,” Charlie glanced between the two of them scrutinizingly, “You’re good to go. You’ve already got the house key, and a moving van will head over soon after you make it. I’ll make sure they’ve got some decent clothes for you boys in there as well. One of those fancy hoodie-blazer things for Michael.” 

“Thanks, Charlie,” Dean said, truly grateful to her for that. The polo was just too constricting. 

“No problem!” She stood and shook their hands as they made their way back out the way they came. “Keep in touch! I’ll talk to you tonight at eleven.”

Dean waved goodbye and closed the garage door behind them, shutting off the mini living room from the rest of the world.

“She seemed nice,” Dean said conversationally, shoving his hands into the pockets of his khakis. 

“She seemed green,” Castiel said flatly. 

“Green?” Dean scoffed. “What, ‘cause she was more chipper than the last handler you had on the only time you’ve ever been an UC before?”

“I’m not saying it’s a  _ bad _ thing,” Castiel retorted, pulling the car door open when they reached it. “I’m only noting an observation.”

“Whatever.” Dean rolled his eyes and slid into the passenger’s seat, staring straight at Castiel as he purposefully, and methodically, placed both of his feet on the dashboard.  

Castiel said nothing else for the rest of the journey.


	4. Chapter 4

Skyward Circle was not quite what Dean thought it would be. 

It wasn’t gated, and there weren’t butlers and maids scurrying around dusting off plants or whatever - but the houses were pretty damn huge, and every single front yard looked like it had HOA written all over it. 

There was  _ technically  _ a gate, but there wasn’t a password and it looked like it was probably always open. 

“Hot damn,” Dean murmured as their Prius began slowly driving past each architectural monstrosity. “What do these people  _ do _ for a living?” 

Castiel hummed and squinted at the building numbers. 

“No clue. But given our backstories, something very ostentatious is highly likely.” 

“And that giant-ass building we passed with all the fountains?” Dean whistled. “That was one fancy country club. Do you think they have masseuses there? ‘Cause we should totally get massages.” 

“And how would massages benefit the case?’ Castiel asked, not a shred of actual curiosity in his voice.

“I don’t know.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Maybe they could massage away the pain I’m going to get from carrying the weight of this entire operation on my back.”

Castiel shook his head. 

“I’m already planning escape routes for when you give us away.” 

“Oh, fuck off -”

“We’re here.” 

Dean turned his attention from snarking at Castiel to the driveway that they’d just pulled into, and his mouth fell open. 

The house - while definitely still huge - was one of the smaller homes on the block of mansions. That didn’t make it any less grand, however. There was a fancy steel fence that framed the entire yard - part greenery and part red rocks placed smartly in a circle to help bring their pond to life. The home itself looked like it was basically begging for a modern hipster interior designer that was going through their cubism phase - all angles and glass.

Dean felt entirely out of place. 

“I fucking hate this house already,” Dean said and took a deep breath. “What kind of fancy-ass -”

“I think it looks nice,” Castiel said, interrupting as he turned off the car. “And you should stop swearing so much. We’re supposed to be -”

“Gay people can swear, Cas. Stop being homophobic.”

“- civil!” Castiel gripped the steering wheel and shot a death glare. “This is about fitting in with a high society of people.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at Castiel as Castiel’s gaze softened pointedly. 

“We’re officially James and Michael Milton, starting now,” Castiel murmured, and rested a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “There’s a speedwalker behind you. We’re going to get out of the car and stare at the house in a spirit of hopeful beginnings, and then go into our dream home.”

Dean blinked. 

“James should have been a poet.”

Castiel smiled, genuinely this time. 

“He is, on the side.” 

The speedwalker was a little less speed and a little more walk, by Dean’s standards, but he nodded at her politely as he closed the car door behind him, which was apparently taken as an invitation to approach. 

Damn. 

“Hey there!” The blonde woman waved as she walked up to them, and the shine on her visor as the sunlight reflected off it nearly blinded Dean for a moment. “Are you folks taking a look a tour of the old Cromwell place?”

Dean felt Castiel take a place beside him before he spoke. 

“Moving in, actually; we finalized the sale a few days ago. Do you live around here?”

Dean nearly did a double-take when he heard Castiel speak. His voice was more chipper - and while still a little stilted, he sounded almost... friendly? What had happened to the hard-ass and flatly-spoken lieutenant he knew?

“Oh, really? Well, goodness! I had no idea!” The woman smiled widely and walked forward with purpose, holding her hand out expectantly. “Well, my name is Becky Rosen and I’m so excited to meet new neighbors! I live just down the street at the end of cul-de-sac.” 

Castiel shook the offered hand with a smile and Dean followed suit, trying to seem like he wasn’t trying to seem friendly. 

“My name is James Milton,” Castiel said confidently and gestured towards Dean. “And this is my husband, Michael.” 

Becky’s smile froze on her face as she pulled her hand slowly back against her chest. 

“ _ Oh,” _ she said, a lot more pointedly than was necessary, in Dean’s humble opinion. “Oh, I  _ see _ !”

She continued to look back and forth between the two of them, and -  _ hell _ \- if Castiel could do some acting, so could Dean. 

“Yep. This guy’s stuck with me for life.” Dean glanced over at Castiel with what he hoped was fondness and reached over to grasp his hand and squeeze it once, before turning back towards Becky. “Now, that’s - that’s not a  _ problem _ around here, right?” 

He frowned in false-worry, hoping that it looked like he was nervous about the obvious possibility that people were assholes. 

Too thick. He was laying it on too thick. 

“Oh, no no no!” Becky held up her hands and waved them in wild counter-correction. “No, of  _ course  _ not! I have a cousin who’s gay and just down the street we have the Mills!”

Dean tilted his head to the side. 

“The Mills?” he probed. 

“Oh, you’ll _ love _ them! I mean, I assume you will. Not that you’ll automatically love every other gay couple - they’re just loveable.” Becky was looking a little red in the face from all of her dodging and weaving. “Jody and Donna. They’re great!” 

“Oh,” Dean said, immediately wondering why they hadn’t been told about that detail. “Well, I’m sure they are.”

“It was wonderful to meet you, Becky,” Castiel said, politely hinting that the conversation was now over. “But Michael and I have had a long drive and we’re expecting our moving truck to arrive very soon. We’d love to continue this conversation later, but do you mind if we take a look at the inside of our new home?”

“Of course, yes,” Becky said, nodding a few more times than was necessary, and frankly, she looked a little relieved that she was being given an out. “It was nice to meet you, too! Welcome to the neighborhood!” 

She turned and continued to speed walk away, her blonde ponytail bouncing under her visor. 

“That was kind of rude of you, don’t you think?” Dean murmured once Becky was out of range. “Shouldn’t we have schmoozed her?”

“We can later,” Castiel said back, letting go of Dean’s hand. “Right now, she thinks  _ she  _ was the insensitive one, and will try to make up for that in the near future once she’s had time to mull it over, which we can use.”

“Huh,” said Dean, a tiny bit impressed. “Yeah, okay. Not bad, I guess.” 

Castiel nudged him with his shoulder before walking towards the front door with a pleased smile. 

The interior of the house was largely what Dean expected. It was very minimalist, with a chic structure - or so he thought. But honestly, Dean didn’t know shit about design. It looked simple, but purposefully simple. Like the owners had just  _ too much money  _ to really know what to do with it. 

“Hey, so why weren’t we told that there’s apparently another gay couple in this neighborhood?” Dean said, running a finger along a fancy hall desk. 

Castiel shrugged his shoulders as he studied the living room couch. 

“Probably because it wasn’t important information.” 

“Wasn’t important?” Dean scoffed and shook his head. “What if they take one look at us and know we’re not the real deal? We’re done for!” 

“Don’t be dramatic. There’s no such thing as the ‘real deal’.” Castiel said, using his fingers to make air quotes. “There’s no one way to be a couple, and there’s no one way to be gay. People will see what they expect to see.” `

There was a brief pause before Castiel smirked. 

“So, don’t be so homophobic, Dean _. _ ” 

The taunting tone wasn’t something that Dean often heard from Castiel, as he didn’t often stoop to Dean’s level of immaturity - but it sounded twice as condescending whenever he did. 

“Whatever,” Dean said. “Hope you keep that in mind when they size you up and go ‘yeah, he’s not in love with the blond dude, he’s too awkward’, and then they get spooked.” 

Castiel frowned before finding a sudden interest in the wooden flooring. 

“Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive,” he muttered. “We’ll be fine.”

Dean rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his new home for the foreseeable future. 

“And you’re not blond.”

“Hey, what the  _ fuck -” _

***

The moving van pulled up in front of the home about half an hour later, after he and Castiel had toured the house to make sure they were familiar with the interior as much as possible. 

Finally, Dean would be able to change into some better clothes. 

They walked back outside to greet the movers, but when Dean started to make his way over to the truck to begin helping with the boxes, he felt Castiel grab his hand. 

Dean stopped, glanced down, and up at Castiel. 

“What?”

“We should oversee, but not participate,” Castiel murmured under his breath and tugged Dean closer with a coy smile. “And we have an audience. There’s at least two people peeking out of their windows at us.”

Dean knew better than to immediately glance around him, and instead decided to take Castiel’s word for it.

“I’m not used to not moving my own things,” Dean said, squeezing Castiel’s hand once as he took his place by his side again. “I didn’t even think.” 

“That’s why I’m here,” Castiel said. “Because you rarely do.” 

“Gee, thanks.”

Dean kept the pleasant smile fixed on his face, but squeezed Castiel’s hand with significantly more force than necessary. 

Castiel, however, seemed unaffected. 

“If you could take that box upstairs, please?” Castiel said to one of the movers and pointed towards the house. “Thank you so much.”

“So, was your last UC assignment in a fancy rich place, too?” Dean murmured as he waved at one of the men lifting a heavy box. “You know, the assignment you never told me about?”

“It was not,” Castiel replied. “Trust me when I say that this case is well beyond the usual in many ways."

“Then what was it?” Dean tilted his head to the side. “And  _ when _ was it?”

“I don’t really think now is the time to talk about this.” 

They both turned at the sound of a door closing from across the street and waved politely at a man who’d apparently decided this was the perfect time to collect the newspaper. 

“Welcome to the neighborhood!” the man said. 

“Thank you!” Dean replied, before Castiel could. 

No need for him to dominate  _ every _ conversation. 

They exchanged friendly nods before the man walked back inside his home and closed the front door.

“He must have decided that peeking out of his window was no longer enough,” Castiel said as they turned their attention back to the moving van. 

The movers were incredibly efficient, and the truck was emptied a lot sooner than Dean expected it to be; within no time at all, Dean and Castiel were alone again. Dean wasn’t sure if that felt like a good thing or a bad thing. On the plus side, he didn’t have to pretend that he loved spending time with Castiel; on the minus side, he had to spend time with just Castiel.

“Perfect.” Castiel put his hands on his hips as he surveyed the piles of boxes they now had. “I say we unpack and come up with a plan for tomorrow. What do you say?”

Dean shrugged and tugged open a box labeled ‘Michael’s clothes’. 

“You’re the boss.”

Dean looked up from studying a much less obvious shirt when Castiel didn’t say anything snarky in return. 

He was frowning at Dean. 

“No, I’m not.” Castiel tilted his head to the side. “Not in this situation. We’re equal partners.”

Dean just snorted and continued digging through the box. 

Equal partners? Ever since Castiel had been gifted the title of  _ Lieutenant _ he’d looked down on his former partner in the force and Dean  _ hated  _ it _.  _ He’d suddenly become Mr. High-and-Mighty on his throne of command, and suddenly nothing Dean did was good enough for him. 

“Just like the good old days, huh?” Dean muttered, letting just a touch of the old resentment into his voice. 

“... we’ve always been equal partners.” 

Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed a speckled grey t-shirt out of the pile, lifting it up to get a better look at it. It looked simple, but it was definitely made of more expensive material than any of the t-shirts Dean had ever owned. 

“Yeah, of course we have,  _ Lieutenant _ .”

In one swift movement, Dean pulled off the tight-fitting polo and threw it on the ground with a satisfied smile, then, with great relief, tugged on the grey shirt. 

Dean glanced down at himself and sighed happily. It still wasn’t his usual style, but it was much closer, and he already felt a lot more comfortable. 

“For the plan, we should -” Dean stopped when he saw Castiel had his eyes cast downwards, looking awkward. At least, he was pretty sure that was awkwardness - it was hard to differentiate between this and Castiel’s general stick-up-the-ass demeanor. “Oh, come on. Aren’t we kind of way past modesty? We’re fucking married now.” 

“It’s polite,” Castiel mumbled and flicked his gaze upwards; his posture seemed to relax when he saw Dean was clothed. 

“ _ Jesus.” _ Dean ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “ _ Anyway, _ I was thinking we could stop by the country club tomorrow and get memberships ASAP. Maybe wander around the neighborhood a bit and see if anyone besides Becky will come out to talk to us.” 

“Yes, I was going to suggest that as well.” Castiel cleared his throat and grabbed a box. “I’ll be unpacking clothing upstairs.”

“Alright, have fun,” Dean said with a half-wave, still put off by their conversation. 

_ Equals.  _

Dean snorted and shook his head.

They stopped being equals the moment Castiel lied to get a promotion. 

***

What remained of the day was spent unpacking various items that Charlie had given them to either blend in and make it look like they had shit to unpack like normal people, or that they actually needed. Like the rest of the case files, and everything they knew about the members of the neighborhood. 

After significant amounts of persuasion, Dean had convinced Castiel to let them order take-out - just this once, since it would make sense on the first day of moving. Eleven o’clock came and went, as did the phone call to Charlie. 

There wasn’t a lot to report today, besides that they were beginning to talk to neighbors and had a plan for tomorrow. 

Castiel yawned as he hung up the phone, and gathered up the remnants of their take-out to toss into the trash.

“I’m going to bed,” he announced, and Dean nodded in agreement. “We should, ah, discuss sleeping arrangements.” 

Dean stretched his arms over his head and rubbed at his eyes. If this were a normal stakeout, he’d be hopped up on caffeine to keep him awake for as long as was needed. Luckily for him, this wasn’t normal, and he could enjoy acceptable sleeping hours. 

“Alright.” Dean cleared his throat. “We don’t have to… sleep  _ together _ , right?”

“No, of course not.” Castiel shook his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. “No one would know. I can take the guest bedroom downstairs, and you -” 

“I’ll take the guest bed,” Dean said, already gathering up his things. “You sleep in the master.”

“No, I can -”

“Just take the master bedroom, Cas.” Dean yawned, not wanting to make a whole argument over this. “The guest bed is still a million times better than what I have at my apartment. Plus I’m being nice to you for once so I’d suggest revelling in that while you can.” 

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, nodding once. 

“Thank you, Dean.”

“No problem.” Dean turned and waved a hand into the air as he headed towards his room. “Goodnight, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

And day one was over.


	5. Chapter 5

“Hello, we’d like to apply for a membership here.” Castiel announced, leaning against the marble countertop and smiling at the receptionist. 

Dean stood next to him, playing the part of supportive husband as he glanced between both him and the receptionist. Castiel had finally allowed Dean to put a touch of gel in his hair and comb it down a _ little _ , just so it looked a little bit more manageable and a little less like he’d just rolled out of bed. 

“You can’t go out there with sex hair, dude,” he’d said. 

Castiel had only given Dean his signature frown. 

“It’s not sex hair if I didn’t have sex.” 

And that wasn’t a trap that Dean was going to walk into. 

“Of course, sir!” said the chipper man behind the counter. “We can get you set up for that right away. Which tier of membership did you want?”

Castiel tilted his head to the side and tapped on his chin. 

“What are the different tiers?”

“We have bronze, silver, gold, and platinum membership here at Skyward Country Club. Bronze will give you access to all of the facilities besides the golf course and pool. Silver will include the golf course and gold will give you access to all of the amenities. Platinum gives you access to everything we have, including free spa treatments whenever you’d like.” 

“I think we’ll be fine with the gold membership,” Castiel said, pulling out a credit card. 

“Babe,” Dean said, stopping his hand before he could hand the card to the secretary. “ _ Free _ spa treatments. Whenever we want.” 

Castiel pursed his lips, but there was still a hint of a smile there. 

“We didn’t need that at our last country club.” Castiel dropped his voice, but kept it loud enough for the receptionist to hear. “Don’t you think platinum memberships is overdoing it?” 

“Well, yes, but you deserve it and we can afford to splurge a little, now.” Dean rubbed at Castiel’s shoulder. “Please, James? For me?”

Castiel sighed like it was a difficult decision for him to make, and not one that they’d already decided on beforehand. He turned towards the receptionist and handed him the card. 

“Two platinum memberships, please. I can’t say no to that face.” 

The receptionist smiled professionally as he took the card. 

“I’m sure you won’t regret it, Mr. Milton. We have absolute top-quality facilities here for everything. You and your husband are going to quickly become a part of our little family here.”

“Oh, I hope so,” Dean said, shooting him a winning grin and looking around at the interior in awe. “This place does look amazing. Our last club wasn’t nearly this big.” 

“We do like to consider ourselves the best of the best.” The receptionist typed in a few numbers and handed back the card, as well as two shiny platinum cards. “Thank you both for joining! I hope you enjoy your time at Skyward Country Club.”

“I’m sure we will,” Castiel said with a nod. “We just moved here, so we have a few errands to run before getting  _ too  _ comfortable, but I’m sure you’ll see us around.”

Den waved as they turned, and looped his arms back around Castiel’s. 

“Is now a good time to mention that I suck at golf?” he whispered, flashing back to the two times he’d ever played in his life. 

It had not gone well.

“Hmmmm,” Castiel shrugged his shoulders after a moment of thought. “I’m not very good either. This ought to be interesting.”

***

They regrouped back at their new home, and Dean spent a majority of the day watching golf videos on YouTube while lounging on their sleek couch, praying that he'd absorb something in time for the next day, while Castiel did God-knows-what. 

It wasn't until the scent of cooked meat began wafting through the house that Dean realized where Castiel had been for the past hour or so. The tantalizing smell quickly turned acrid however, and Dean’s video about a golf stance was interrupted by a loud shrieking from the smoke detector. 

Dean paused the video and jogged to the kitchen, hoping that nothing was  _ actually  _ on fire - because strangely enough, he’d trusted Castiel to be competent enough not to burn their house down on the second day. 

Castiel was standing over a smoking pan, waving at it wildly with a cookie sheet in a desperate attempt to solve the problem, while the smoke detector continued screaming. 

“Gimme  _ that -”  _ Dean yelled to be heard, walking over to Castiel, grabbing the sheet from his hands, and climbing up on a chair to wave it at the smoke detector on the ceiling. “What happened?

Castiel threw up his hands in frustration and grabbed the smoking pan of what  _ seemed  _ like burnt fish - Dean couldn't be sure with the state it was in - and held it underneath the faucet before Dean could say anything. 

“Dude,  _ no!”  _ Dean jumped from his chair to grab for the pan. “Do you  _ want _ to start an oil fire? _ ” _

_ “ _ There's no oil,” Castiel, through gritted teeth. “It'll be fine.”

Dean gaped at him, and held up the slightly-less smoking pan. 

“You tried to cook fish in a pan with no oil?” Dean gestured at the burnt fish wildly. “ _ Why? _ ” 

Castiel’s expression turned from annoyance to confusion. 

“Should I have?”

“This isn't a non-stick pan, Cas,” Dean said in exasperation, taking a moment to scrape the charcoaled mess into the trash bin. “So,  _ yeah _ , you need some kind of oil. And people tend to use butter cause it - you know -  _ makes it taste good?” _

Castiel was still squinting at him. 

“Butter?”

“Jesus Christ.”

Dean dunked the pan into the sink, clogged the drain, and turned on the water - that pan was going to need to soak for a while to recover. 

“What the hell were you planning on seasoning this with, anyway?”

Dean looked over at Castiel when he didn't answer, and saw him glancing anywhere but at him. 

“What?”

“Well … now I think it's probably the wrong answer.” 

Dean inhaled deeply - steeling himself for the answer. 

“Just… please tell me it was lemon pepper - bare minimum.”

Castiel’s lips pressed together before he said, 

“I was just going to use salt.”

Dean exhaled and pointed a finger at him. 

“You're not allowed to cook anymore.”

There was a dejected nod from Castiel, before he pulled out a chair and sat down on it with a long sigh. 

“I didn't realize cooking was so difficult.”

“Difficult?” Dean glanced back towards the ruined meal, now in the trash can. “Maybe if you're making a consommé. Not grilling fish in a pan.”

“I don't cook!” Castiel folded his arms in front of his chest, looking extremely put-out. “I spend more time at the precinct than at my own apartment so I usually order delivery.” 

“You could have asked me for help,” Dean pointed out - Castiel should have known from their time as partners on the force that he was a decent cook. 

“I didn't want to bother you,” Castiel mumbled, and Dean wasn't at all convinced. 

“More like you didn't want to admit you couldn't do something.” Dean rolled his eyes and scanned the kitchen. “You got more stuff? I can help you out.” 

Castiel nodded and pointed towards the fridge. 

“Charlie gave us a good stock of food.” 

“Great.” Dean rubbed his hands together, already trying to plan meals with food he wasn't sure they had yet. “I'll teach you some basics.”

“My hero.”

Dean rolled his eyes again, but something about Castiel's voice made it sound like he at least sort of meant it.

***

“Hey, Charlie. It's your favorite undercover agent. How's it going?”

_ “Wow, Channing Tatum, you sound different.” _

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

_ “I try my best. How was day two? Anything to report?” _

_ “ _ Well, Cas nearly burned the house down. Does that count?

“ _ He what?” _

_ “ _ Haha, yeah. It was pretty embarrassing - hey,  _ ouch!  _  Dude,  _ stop -” _

_ “ _ Hello, Charlie. This is Castiel. Dean is being facetious. I had everything under control.”

“ _ Yeah, sure sounds like it. Any progress updates?”  _

“Yes. We recieved platinum membership at the country club and we'll be making our first appearance there tomorrow in hopes of making friends with some of the attendants.”

_ “Awesome. Keep me updated! How are you two getting along?” _

“Perfectly fine and absolutely professional.”

_ “....he's flipping you off right now, isn't he?” _

_ “ _ Apologies, Charlie. I have to go.”


	6. Chapter 6

“So, what, do we just start nodding at things while looking impressed - but not too impressed - until a rich person senses we’re their own kind?” 

Dean and Castiel were walking side by side up the long pathway to the Skyward Country Club, Dean in khaki shorts, and Castiel in one of those stupid golfer hats. 

Dean was pretty sure he got the better end of the deal. 

“Just act friendly and try to mingle as much as possible,” Castiel murmured, reaching to loop his arm through Dean’s. 

“I don't know if you remember yourself at any office party ever,” Dean said, smirking at Castiel as he recalled the memory, “but mingling and being friendly is  _ not  _ your forte.”

Dean's smirk grew more prominent when Castiel refused to make eye contact. 

“I am aware, actually. Thank you for the reminder.” Castiel cleared his throat, “if you'll recall, that is one of the reasons you are on this case with me. You're personable.” 

Dean puffed out his chest a little at the praise that Castiel probably only meant as a fact.

“It's the good looks and sparkling personality,” Dean said, pretending to toss some hair back that didn't exist. “Don't worry, Cas. I'll pick up your slack.”

“Don't call me that in public,” Castiel said with a stern glare. 

“There's no one here!” 

“Just don't.” 

Castiel gave him one last look before they reached the front entrance, the double glass doors sliding open to welcome them into the grand hallway of the Skyward Country Club. 

It was the second time they'd graced the country club with their presence, and yet it still felt just as extravagant and overdone as the first time. 

The flooring looked like it was probably marble, while the wooden columns that lined the pathway up to the front desk were made of a rich, red wood. To tie it all together, a crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the room, lights refracting off the crystal to create specks of light all around them. 

“Think the owner’s overcompensating for something?” Dean whispered as he leaned towards Castiel. 

Castiel only nudged him.

“Welcome back to Skyward Country Club!” said the same receptionist they'd seen the day before - because apparently he had no other life. “What was your first plan for today? Golf? Curling? Couple’s massage?”

Dean opened his mouth to enthusiastically agree to a massage, but Castiel was faster. 

“Golfing sounds wonderful, thank you,” Castiel said - nearly deadpanned, though Dean thought that maybe only he’d be able to hear the touch of dry humour. “Can you show us where we'd go for that?” 

The receptionist smiled and pointed down a hallway to their right. 

“Down that way will lead you to another building next to our golf course. The front desk should help you with any supplies you may need.” 

The two of them waved as they walked towards the hallway, and flashed their membership cards to unlock the doors. 

“I feel so official,” Dean murmured, once he was sure the receptionist couldn't hear them. “I don't like it.” 

“Calm down, it's just like flashing your badge.” 

“I  _ am  _ calm. Just pointing something out, Cas.”

Castiel stopped mid-step and made a shushing motion with his hand. 

“I  _ said _ not to call me that. You're going to get too used to it and it's going to give us away.”

“Sheesh, okay.” Dean made a motion to zip up his lips and throw away the key. “Hard-ass.”

They made it to the aforementioned front desk, which was placed between two wide glass walls that overlooked a large golf course. There were a few people standing just outside that were chatting with golf clubs in their hands, as well as a couple of golf carts driving around. 

Everything looked entirely picturesque and perfect.

Except for the man in a dark suit, arguing with the receptionist at the front desk. 

“This is an unacceptable way to treat a VIP member of this club. Do you understand that?” The man was tapping his foot against the ground impatiently as he stood menacingly in front of her. 

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Roman. But unfortunately, there isn’t anything I can do for you at this time.” The receptionist maintained a smile like a champ in front of such an unpleasant person. “If you have any complaints about it, please feel free to take it up with the owner.”

“Don’t think I won’t,” Mr. Roman snipped, and turned - apparently startled by their presence as he looked them up and down, confusion etched into his features, “And who are you? I don’t recall ever seeing you around.”

Dean kept his mouth shut. He  _ really _ didn’t want to talk to a skeeze-ball like this guy unless he absolutely had to. 

“James and Michael Milton,” Castiel said and reached a hand forward, like he hadn’t just witnessed the rant. “We only just moved here.”

“Hmmm.” Mr. Roman glanced at the offered hand and ignored it. “Good luck with the service, here. High-ranking members are unappreciated.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Dean said with a sarcastic salute, but Mr. Roman had already stalked away down one of the long connecting hallways. 

“Apologies for the scene.” The dark-haired woman at the desk smiled at them pleasantly from behind a desk outfitted with all sorts of clubs, golf balls, hats, and club accessories that were being displayed behind her. “Is there anything I can help you find?”

“We're looking to play some golf,” Castiel said, tapping the brim of his hat as Dean resisted an eye roll.

“Of course. May I see your membership cards?”

They both flashed the cards they'd been given, and the receptionist smiled politely. 

“Platinum members get free rentals of all equipment. Did you need any today?”

Dean nodded, then realized how odd it might seem that neither of their super-rich selves had their own. 

“We're first time golf players, actually,” he said, just as Castiel said, “Our equipment is still packed up from the move.”

Dean cleared his throat as the receptionist cocked her head to the side. 

“Yeah, the clubs we have are brand new - we got ‘em right before moving here. So they're still packed up.”

“What we're  _ trying  _ to say,” Castiel interjected, “is that we  _ will _ need equipment, thank you so much for asking.” 

“Perfect.” The receptionist smiled professionally and gestured towards the wall behind her. “Take your pick and I'll check it out in your name.” 

Dean whistled and leaned forward against the desk as he surveyed his options, his eyes falling on a sleek black set of golf clubs that reminded him of the Impala, as well as a tube of golden balls set up on a high shelf behind the desk. They were ostentatious as fuck, but that was the whole point of this, right? To be over the top. 

“I'll just need any set of clubs and some balls,” Castiel said, and Dean pressed his lips together to force himself from commenting on that. 

The receptionist smiled and grabbed a deep blue case of golf clubs and a tube of standard golf balls, bringing them over to their side of the counter. 

“And for you?” she asked, turning towards Dean. 

“Gimme that black leather case and some of those babies,” he said, pointing at one of the sets of golden golf balls with a click of the tongue. 

“Oh - I'm very sorry, sir, but those golf balls are for VIP members only.” 

Dean cleared his throat and pulled out his platinum membership card in case she missed it the first time. 

“Yeah, I'm platinum.”

“Unfortunately, VIP is different to platinum membership. If you'd like to be upgraded, that's something that you'll have to take up with the owner directly.” 

“And who is that?” Castiel asked, leaning in curiously. 

“That would be Fergus Crowley, sir. I believe he's in today.” 

Dean rolled his eyes and huffed, only partially acting.

“Fine. Just give me anything.” 

It wasn't like he wanted to play a rich person’s sport with golden golf balls anyway. Being VIP meant he’d be like that Mr. Roman asshole.

Except he really did kind of want that, he noted, as he was handed bright yellow ones instead. 

“If you'd like a caddy and a cart, you can get them outside,” the receptionist said. “ Enjoy your game!”

They waved as they lugged their clubs over their shoulders and headed outside. 

“Figures that there's a whole other level of importance that you have to ass-kiss to get to,” Dean muttered, shoving the doors open roughly. “I hate this place.”

“No, you don't,” Castiel said, looking a little amused.

“What?” Dean glared as he dropped his bag next to a golf cart. 

“You keep saying that, but you do enjoy a lot of this,” he said, apparently unintimidated by Dean’s sharp look. “You love our house, you love our couch, you love our kitchen, you love the free massages -”

“- which you'll never let us use -” 

“- you love getting the chance to be a little fancy, and of course,” Castiel let out a sigh, “you love the thrill of it all.” 

Dean opened his mouth to respond, then closed it when he couldn't think of an argument. As much as he was loathe to admit it, Castiel might be the teensiest bit right. Getting to act like a rich person - live the life of one - it was fun. 

Hell, even being married to Castiel wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. It felt kind of weirdly good to be walking around together - for people to be looking at them as a couple.

Temporarily, of course. He could only stand it because it was temporary. 

Dean huffed. 

“Whatever.”

A few minutes later they were all set up with a car and a caddy named Jack, who Dean tried to joke around with at first - but everything seemed to go over his head. 

They began packing up their clubs into their cart when the sound of a thick, British accent came from behind him. 

“And who are the both of you?” 

Dean turned to see a shorter man in unusually dark golfing gear leaning against his own cart, scrutinizing them in a way that made a small chill go up Dean’s spine - like he was inspecting a prize racehorse. 

“Hello,” Castiel said, stepping forward and holding a hand out for the man to shake, “I’m James, and this is my husband Michael.” 

The stranger raised an eyebrow as he shook Castiel's hand, his eyes flicking to Dean, making his skin crawl. 

“Pleasure to meet you both,” he said, with a smile that almost reached his eyes. “What brings you to my lovely establishment?”

Ah. 

So, this was Crowley. 

“We just moved here,” Dean said, taking a step closer to his husband. His fake husband, Dean corrected himself quickly inside his own head - he didn’t want to slip too far into character, there. _ “ _ And we figured we check out the local country club.” 

“You made a wonderful choice.” Crowley ran his hand up along the handle of his golf club as he spoke. “What is it that you both do?”

Dean rolled his eyes internally at the fishing. Of course the guy had to find out how wealthy they were in the most obvious way possible. 

But rich people liked talking about their jobs, right?

“I’m in investments,” Dean said pointing at himself and then gesturing at Castiel, “and he’s a big shot lawyer.”

“Michael, please,” Castiel said, sounding fondly flattered. Dean was about to say that he hadn’t meant  _ big shot  _ as a compliment, more as a fact - but closed his mouth when he realised that people round here probably took the  _ big shot  _ as a given. It could only be a compliment, between them.

“Oh, really?” Crowley raised an impressed eyebrow, looking genuinely interested. “Let me guess… discrimination attorney?”

Dean’s lips thinned dangerously and his dislike of Crowley dipped even lower. 

“Financial, actually,” Castiel said, his voice remarkably pleasant. “I used to work with Wall Street until Michael mentioned he wanted a change of scenery, and we moved here.”

“Interesting.” Crowley scanned Castiel up and down, as if he was seeing him in a new light. “Do you have a card I can see? One never knows when one could use a good financial lawyer.”

“Of course,” Castiel said, pulling out his wallet and retrieving a simple card that Dean didn’t realize he had. “Let me know if you need anything. Both my work number and my website are on there.”

Crowley nodded with a shifty smile as he pocketed the card and cleared his throat.  “I see you're about to play the course. Do you mind if I join you?” 

“Not at all,” Castiel said, stopping Dean’s panicked thoughts in their tracks. “Though I should warn you - neither of us are very good.”

“Well, that's fine by me. I'll just look better in comparison.” Crowley winked. “I just adore getting to know all of my members. 

“That's very personable of you,” Dean said,  _ almost _ letting his sarcasm leak through. “Feel free to hang out, I guess. It’s your place.”

Crowley stuck his club back in the bag and got into his cart. 

“Meet you at hole one.”

And he drove down the green. 

“Where did you get a card and a website?” Dean asked out of the side of his mouth, so their caddy couldn’t hear as he packed their stuff up into their cart.

“Charlie,” Castiel said and let out a breath. “Good thing, too. He’s quite a character.”

“That’s for sure,” Dean muttered, and cleared his throat loudly, “Let’s go kick some golf ass.”

***

Turns out, neither of them had been exaggerating when they said they weren’t very good at golf. 

They swung wide, their stances were awful, and nothing they did was even  _ remotely _ close to a good score. 

But Crowley  _ loved _ it. 

Besides the fact that he thoroughly crushed them, he apparently found it  _ highly  _ amusing that they were so terrible at golfing, and became drastically more friendly towards them as the game went on. 

By the time the game was over, Dean was covered in sweat from being out in the hot sun - even with Jack bringing them cool bottles of water every once in a while - and hadn’t changed his opinion on the game at all. 

Golfing was the worst. 

And it would have been better with bright gold golf balls. 

Dean groaned and excused himself to go to the bathroom once they finished the game, leaving Castiel to chat with Crowley about finances. 

Hopefully, Castiel would be able to keep that up. 

Dean wandered down a hallway, looking for a sign that said “restroom”, but was starting to think that maybe rich people didn't shit. 

“Hey, excuse me,” he called out when he turned a corner and saw a woman with closely cropped hair walking towards him, “can you tell me where the restroom is? I'm new here and I think I'm really lost.” 

The woman smiled and pointed over her shoulder. 

“You're actually just about to hit it. Take a right at the end.” 

Dean saluted. 

“Thank you much, ma’am.” 

“You can call me Jody. I'm no ‘ma’am’.” Jody said, and slowed in her walking, “Wait, you wouldn't happen to be one of the Miltons, would you? Who just moved in?” 

“Uh, yep. That's me,” Dean said after only a moment's pause. “Michael Milton.”

Jody’s smile grew much brighter as she stuck out her hand, shaking his firmly once. 

“Well, it's great to meet you, Michael. We're glad to have you in our neighborhood. I'm Jody Mills.” 

Mills… Mills… why did that sound familiar?

“Becky mentioned you had moved in,” Jody said, probably sensing Dean’s confusion. “Uh, fairly enthusiastically.”

Oh, the  _ Mills! _

Dean chuckled as he drew his hand back. 

“Oh yeah, Becky. Met her once. Seemed… very interesting.”

“Ah, she means well.” Jody folded her arms against her chest. “Maybe a bit too well.”

Dean grinned and really noticed Jody for the first time. 

Her clothing was… normal? Not as gaudy as most everything else he'd seen people here wearing, and it gave off a very down-to-earth vibe. 

“I really do have to piss, but it was nice meeting you,” Dean said with an awkward smile. “Small bladder.”

He could  _ feel  _ Castiel shaking his head in despair over him.  _ You’re such a cop,  _ he’d say.

“You and your husband should come over tomorrow night,” Jody said, pointing at him as he walked away. “It's my wife's birthday and we're throwing a big party for the whole neighborhood.” 

“Oh…” Dean swallowed, and almost passed on it - but this would be a great way to meet people, right? The only person they’d managed to meet today was Crowley, and they’d been too busy trying to keep their golf balls out of the lake to really ask him any questions about the case.

“I'm firing up the grill,” Jody said.

Dean grinned. 

“Sold.”

***

“Hey, what's up, Charlie?”

_ “Nothing much, Dean. I just sit here and await your phone call.” _

“I'll bet.”

_ “Any news today?” _

“Well, we played some golf, and I think Castiel nearly charmed the pants off of the Country Club owner.”

_ “Castiel did?” _

“I know! I was surprised, too… he's glaring at me now.”

_ “Huh. Well, tell him he did a good job.” _

“Oh, sorry Charlie, you're breaking up. I didn't catch that last part.” 

_ “Hah. Anything else to report?” _

“Yep. I got us invited to a party tomorrow night, so hopefully we'll be able to do some intel gathering.”

_ “Perfect! Let me know how it goes.” _

“You got it. Goodnight, Charlie.”

_ “Goodnight, Dean.” _


	7. Chapter 7

“Should we have brought a pasta bowl or something? Maybe a casserole?” Dean whispered as he and Castiel walked up the large driveway up to the Mills’ home, carrying only a single bottle of what they’d been told was fairly expensive wine.

“This will be fine,” Castiel said, holding the wine in one hand and reaching down for Dean’s with the other. A little prematurely, if you asked Dean, but sometimes it was comforting to have that reassurance of contact, even if no one was watching. 

Or maybe all this pretend was getting to him. 

Castiel paused when they finally stood on the front porch, tilting his head at the sound of the muted piano music coming from within - and Dean couldn’t shake the flashbacks of every awkward porch moment after a date that he’d ever had. 

“Are you ready?” Castiel asked, squinting over at Dean like he was trying to glean the answer from his facial expression. 

Dean only smiled and let his eyes flick down to the sleek grey button-up that Charlie had sent for Castiel to wear on such an occasion as this. 

It looked good. 

“Let’s do this,” Dean said, and reached out, pressing the doorbell with as much confidence as he could muster. 

The hand that Dean was holding squeezed his once, and Dean glanced over to smile at his partner in thanks before the door opened, revealing a perky blonde woman with a bright smile and welcoming posture. 

“Oh, you two must be the Miltons!” The woman’s smile grew even wider as she stepped forward and pulled Castiel into a surprise hug, wrenching his hand out of Dean’s - a small price to pay for the wide-eyed look of abject confusion at being hugged so fiercely by a stranger that was prominent on Castiel’s face. 

The woman released Castiel and brought Dean into the same type of extreme hug that Dean returned with a pat on her back. 

“Nice to meet you both - my name is Donna,” she said, with a delightful north-central accent that Dean hadn’t been expecting in California. “I’ve just been raring to meet ya since I heard that you both moved in! How are you liking the neighborhood so far?”

When she finally let go, Dean took a moment to get his thoughts back in order, but he and Castiel were both enthusiastically being ushered inside. 

“Oh, it’s been - it’s great -” Dean said, stumbling over his words as he took in the large grandeur that surrounded him now. 

“Everyone’s been so kind -” Castiel added, though it looked like he was being less obvious about scoping the place out than Dean, which was good. “- and thank you so much for inviting us.”

“Of course, hun, no problem!” Donna shut the door behind them as they made their way inside and Castiel awkwardly handed Donna the wine they’d brought - and to her credit, she looked delighted. “You didn’t have to do that - I’m glad you did, but you didn’t have to!”

Dean let Castiel talk with Donna while he did a quick scan of people he could see that were talking in small groups, with their voices only just louder than the music. 

He recognized a couple of people from the country club - Dick and Crowley were dispersed throughout Dean’s line of immediate sight inside the home, but it looked like there were also people out in the backyard, which was probably where the scent of grilling meat was wafting from.

“- and so when she mentioned that she’d invited you, I got so darn excited!” 

Dean tuned back into the conversation Donna and Castiel were having and smiled at her pleasantly. 

“Well, that’s very flattering, Donna.” He sniffed the air. “And is that - is that burgers I smell?”

Castiel nudged him with his elbow. 

“A man after my own heart,” Donna said with a gentle pat on Dean’s shoulder. “The food’s in the backyard if you want. Jody’s out there grilling, so feel free to drop in on her and say ‘hi’!” 

This home was already the best building in the entire damn neighborhood. 

“Great.” Dean rubbed his hands together and patted Castiel on the shoulder. “James? Do you want anything?”

“Ah, yes. Thank you.” Castiel nodded. “You know what I like.” 

Dean resisted the urge to throw him some finger guns, and instead settled for a thumbs up as he turned to make his way around the small chatting groups to the backyard. 

Just like Donna said, Jody was in the back, and what a backyard it was. There was a intricate pond that covered a good third of the landscape, and a breathtaking gazebo that Dean had only ever seen in Disney movies. 

The interesting thing was, despite all of the grandeur that he was starting to get used to, Jody and Donna seemed unlike most of the others in the neighborhood. He’d only been talking to Donna for a few minutes, and he’d met Jody briefly the day before, but already they seemed more down-to-earth than anyone Dean had expected to meet during their investigation. 

“Lemme guess, wanted to see me?” Jody asked with a wry smile and adjusted the apron as he approached. “Or smelled the food?”

Dean smiled sheepishly at her as he grabbed a plate that was set out next to the grill. 

“I’m sure you’re a wonderful person Jody, but food and I have a much more established relationship.” He held the plate out as she flipped over something on the grill. “So, what do you got?”

“Steak, if you’re fancy,” Jody said, wiping at her forehead, “And burgers if you’re not. I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely going for the burgers.”

“I’ll take two burgers,” Dean said, holding out the plate in her direction. “Gotta pick up something for the Mr.”

She laughed and dropped two hamburger patties onto a plate before pointing at a small lawn table with an array of condiments over the top.

“Take your pick.”

“Thanks.” 

Dean walked over to the table, building one hamburger perfectly, and pausing before stacking a mountain of pickles on the other and closing it with an expensive looking hamburger bun. 

“A fan of pickles?” Dean glanced over to see that Jody had briefly abandoned her station at the grill and was wiping her hands on the front of her apron as she raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Me? Nah. They’re alright, but no one likes pickles like James does.” 

Jody’s eyebrow raised higher and Dean lifted up a finger in self-defense. 

“I swear that’s not an innuendo.” 

Jody held up her hands with a smile. 

“No judgements here. He’s just probably the only person I’ve ever seen like pickles that much. Even Donna, despite her love of everything, doesn’t like pickles much.” 

Dean sighed like it was such a trial for him to go through. 

“I know. He’s a weirdo. But what can you do?”

“Jody, look!” 

The two of them turned to see Donna walking into the backyard, holding up the bottle of wine in the air with Castiel following bemusedly behind her. 

“They brought us the  _ good stuff, _ ” Donna said, cupping a hand in front of her mouth. 

“Speaking of weirdos we love -” Jody murmured, and turned back to Donna. “Quick! Put it away in the wine rack before they change their minds!” 

Donna laughed cheerfully as she walked up to two of them, planted a quick kiss onto Jody’s cheek, and set the wine on the condiment table. 

“So,  _ James _ here was just telling me all about your first country club visit, and sweetheart, if you need someone to teach you how to golf, I can definitely help you.” 

Dean felt his face flush slightly red and he cleared his throat to look at his supposed  _ partner _ . 

“Oh yeah? And did he tell you that he’s not much better than me?” Dean asked with a purposeful head tilt in Castiel’s direction. 

“He did neglect to mention that tiny detail.” 

Castiel shrugged his shoulders once, not looking the slightest bit sheepish. 

“Anyway,  _ dear -” _ Dean said, holding up both plates of burgers. “I was just telling Jody about your odd obsession with pickles, but how I sure do love you anyway.”

Dean smiled as he handed Castiel the hamburger that was probably more pickle than patty, and saw the  exactly moment Castiel realized what he was being handed, and witnessed the despair set into his eyes. 

He hated pickles. 

“How… considerate of you.” Castiel said, through gritted teeth, but accepted the plate nonetheless. 

“Anything for you.”

“Awwww,” Donna clasped her hands in front of her chest and sighed. “You two are cute. How did you meet?”

Dean glanced at Castiel, his mind blanking for just a moment - and Castiel must have sensed it. 

“My law firm was helping him out with a countersuit,” Castiel said evenly, “We met at a meeting and then I asked if he wanted to go out for coffee.” 

“And I said no.” Dean interrupted with a smile. “Seemed a little unprofessional. But after the suit we made up for lost time.” 

Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Castiel, who flushed and turned his face away like a true method actor. 

“What about you guys?” Dean asked and took a bite out of his non-pickled burger. “How’d  _ you _ meet?”

Donna and Jody turned towards each other and broke out into smiles as they apparently shared some sort of shared memory. 

“Nothing too romantic,” Donna said with a shrug. “We met at work.”

“I thought she was adorable from day one, but it takes a while for me to come around to these kinda things sometimes.” Jody murmured with a fond look on her face. “Didn’t see what was right in front of my face.”

“I was always crazy about her, though.” Donna added, slipping an arm around Jody’s waist. “Let that be known. I was the smart one.”

Jody pressed a kiss to her temple, a little pink in the face as she wrapped her free arm around Donna’s shoulder. 

“Yes, you are.”

Dean let out a contented breath as he watched the two of them get all sappy and had to admit it was really adorable, but the doubting part of him decided that this was probably the bar now. If he and Castiel weren’t ranking on this level of chemistry, then there was no way anyone was going to buy their act. 

He glanced over at Castiel - planning on telling him all of that with a glance - but frowned when he saw the look on his face. 

Castiel didn’t look  _ sad _ , per say, but there was some sort of wistfulness to his features that made Dean think that maybe he’d zoned out of their conversation. 

“You good… babe?” Dean asked, adding the title last minute for effect. 

Castiel blinked and started like he’d only just remembered Dean was there. 

“Oh, yes, sorry.” He cleared his throat. “My mind was elsewhere, apologies.” 

And as though he still wasn’t completely thinking things through, Castiel brought the burger up to his mouth, taking a big bite and chewing like nothing was wrong. 

***

Dean and Castiel mingled with people other than Donna and Jody throughout the night, but no one quite lived up to those impossibly high standards. 

Crowley had amassed quite a following of people around him at all times, though that didn’t much surprise Dean as he was the owner of the Skyward Country Club and everyone probably wanted to kiss his ass as much as possible on the off-chance that he’d hook them up. 

Sure, Dean had only briefly talked to him the day before, but the guy and his whole entourage made his skin crawl enough to not want to be near him for long. And watching him toss one of those VIP golf balls in his hands as he talked - like he was taunting the room with potential status - none of it added up to anything good.

They talked to Dick Roman again - briefly - and Dean was also not a huge fan. The guy was skeevy and liked to talk too much about his pharmaceutical company, and how unfair it was that he was being investigated for fraud.

Though talking too much about jobs seemed to be a common thread, as a guy called Uriel also waxed on about his land development agency and a woman named Naomi wouldn’t shut up about how difficult it was to run a hospital, and Becky’s husband Chuck wanted their opinion on a new book series he was working on. 

Dean got it. 

They were rich. 

That had been  _ well _ established. 

“Well, if any of the stereotypes must be true, at least you’re both pretty.” 

Dean and Castiel turned from the conversation they’d only been half-invested in to see a woman with dark hair and a deep smirk eyeing the both like they were on some kind of menu. 

“Pardon?” Castiel asked, a frown of confusion etched onto his face. 

“Oh, nothing. The wine’s setting in.” She held up a glass as her excuse and held out a her free hand towards Castiel. “Meg, by the way. Meg Masters.” 

“James Milton,” Castiel said, taking the offered hand and shaking it once, his frown deepening when her grip didn’t let up. 

“And  _ I’m _ Michael,” Dean interjected, holding out his own hand for her to take so that she’d hopefully let go of Castiel’s. “ _ Pleasure _ to meet you.” 

Meg tore her eyes away from Castiel to briefly look Dean up and down and pulling her hand back to grip her glass, ignoring Dean’s offer of a handshake completely. 

“I’m sure. So, what do  _ you _ do for fun, James?” Her smile was almost feral against her flushed face. “Shoot some holes? Churn some butter? Move some furniture around?”

“Plays with sticks, actually. And likes to be catcher on the weekends,” Dean shot back, a little venom in his voice as he held his hand out again. “Hi. Michael. The husband. We just met.” 

The sudden defensiveness took him off guard a little, but it was only to be expected. Sure, they were only fake-married, but  _ she _ didn’t know that! How  _ dare _ she try and flirt with someone’s husband - fake or not?

“Relax, handsome,” she crooned and stroked the back of Dean’s hand with a flourish. “I’m only playing. Besides, there’s enough of me to go around.”

Dean stared back, dumbfounded at the lack of filter. 

“I’m a lawyer, if that’s what you were asking,” Castiel said, keeping his cool far better than Dean was. “Not very exciting, I’m afraid.”

“Oooo. Strong trade. Firm. Domineering,” Meg said, nearly purring at Castiel, now. 

“And don’t I know it,” Dean said, threading his arm through Castiel’s and holding on tightly. “Sometimes you have to tell him to back off with how domineering he can be.”

“Hmm. Can’t relate.” 

Meg winked at Castiel one more time before downing the rest of her drink in one go. 

“By the way, have you both had this wine? It’s divine.” She wiped at her lips, and grinned. “Anyway, I need to fill up. Can’t run on empty if you know what I mean.” Another wink. “If you ever find yourself wanting to try greener pastures, lemme know.” 

Dean’s hands balled into a fist as she sauntered away, an obvious wobble to her step. 

“Hmm. Well, that was interesting,” Castiel murmured, staring off after her, watching as she stumbled into another group. 

“‘Interesting?’” Dean repeated with a snort. “I  _ guess _ you could say that.”

“Oh, she was harmless.” Castiel shook his head with a small smile that made Dean’s stomach knot. “Too many drinks is all that was.”

Had they not witnessed the same conversation? 

‘Harmless’ was something you said about a three year old child. Or a poodle. Or a goldfish. 

Not a  _ barracuda _ . 

Meg had  _ obviously _ been trying to pull something on Castiel when it was obvious that  _ they _ were together and Dean was clearly the more attractive out of the two of them. Though while the second point should bother him more than the first, it strangely didn’t. 

And Cas - well, he hadn’t really done anything to stop it, had he? 

Maybe...maybe he was interested in her?

As forward as she’d been, she was very pretty, and… maybe Castiel  _ liked _ her blunt attitude. 

They were only fake-married, after all, and Castiel had the future to think about when this was all over. Dean definitely couldn’t fault him for being interested in her for her looks.

“Whatever,” Dean said with an eyeroll. “Have we stayed here long enough? I’m bushed.”

Castiel blinked and checked the expensive watch that Charlie had outfitted him with.

“It  _ is _ getting a bit late. We could afford to go now.”

“Thank god,” Dean said, and loosened his grip on Castiel’s arm and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “That’s enough socializing for one day, if you ask me.” 

“Yes,” Castiel murmured, leading them through the small clusters of rich folks. “We’ll have to discuss some things about motive when we get back. I think I have a few ideas.”

Dean only nodded allowing himself to be escorted by Castiel back up to the front of house. 

“Oh, are you leaving?” Donna asked as they passed her in the hallway. “We haven’t even had cake yet!”

“I’m so sorry. We’re still a little exhausted from the move,” Castiel said, patting Dean on the shoulder with a sigh. “I think we’re going to retire early tonight. Happy birthday, though.”

Donna brought them both into a hug and nodded. 

“Thank you so much for coming!”

This, of course, was when Meg decided to make her final appearance and innuendo of the night.

“And I can help you come more often,” she said, leaning on the wall a few feet away from the door with a signature smirk. 

Dean gripped Castiel’s arm tightly again, totally and completely exasperated by this woman that was mercilessly propositioning his husband. 

_ Fake _ husband. 

“I help him with that  _ plenty _ ,” Dean snarked back.

“Oh, really?” Meg snorted. Donna opened her mouth, looking very uncomfortable, but Meg was already continuing. “Not sure I believe you, champ.”

“Believe it,” Dean said through clenched teeth. Castiel leaned into him slightly, warningly, but Dean didn’t look away from Meg.

“Sorry, but there’s just not the  _ chemistry.  _ You know?”

“Oh, well -” Donna began awkwardly - but Dean, acting on an emotion that he wouldn’t be able to recognize or pinpoint later, let go of his grip on Castiel’s arm to, instead, reach for the back of his head and pull him into a crushing kiss. 

As first kisses go, it wasn’t exactly how Dean would have liked it. 

Not that he liked it. 

He would have liked a bit more flair, a bit more romance, and definitely less drama surrounding the entire situation. He would have preferred to go slow, taking his time exploring Castiel’s lips and enjoying the learning experience of figuring out their likes and dislikes together. 

Unfortunately, Dean didn’t have the luxury of that - this kiss had to seem like they’d done it before.  

It lasted all of a few seconds - their lips pressed together, in uncomfortable stiffness on Castiel’s part - but he still managed to pull back with a satisfying noise of approval.

Dean had thought it had been decent, at least, but Castiel was looking back at him, eyes wide with surprise. He really shouldn’t have looked  _ that _ thrown off - Dean had to play the part of a husband who’d been putting up with someone else flirting with his significant other for part of the evening. Of  _ course _ he had to stake a claim, or it wouldn’t have been believable. 

They were both breathing heavier than they should be after a simple three second kiss, and Dean knew he should be looking back towards Meg with some sort of triumphant smile, but all he could do was stare back at Castiel and search for any sign that he’d stepped over a line or - or anything else. 

“Um.” Castiel licked his lips, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by a loud scream. 

Every head swiveled to look up at the stairwell as Becky ran out onto it, clutching the bannister with a wild look on her face. 

“Someone call 911! Something’s wrong with Zeke!” 

Dean and Castiel both looked at each other, kiss forgotten as they raced up the stairs to find Ezekiel - a man they’d only briefly met while mingling - twitching on the floor of the bathroom while foaming at the mouth. 

“Get back.” Dean was shoved aside as Naomi pushed forward, and Dean nearly protested before he remembered that she was a doctor. 

Dean clenched his hands into fists in worry as he glanced over at Castiel, who nodded at him. 

It looked just like the picture of the most recent OD. 

***

“Alright, Charlie, fill us in. What the hell happened?”

_ “Overdose of the same strain of drug. Everyone is adamant that none of these people are suicidal, so we’re thinking that it’s just an incredibly potent and dangerous strain, and all of these unfortunate users are just… taking too much.” _

“Yeah, no shit. Did he make it?”

_ “... no.” _

“Shit.”

_ “They found something kind of interesting in his pocket. Half of a golf ball.” _

“A golf ball?”

_ “Yep. A golden golf ball.” _

“Oh. Ooooh.”

_ “What?” _

“I think I know how they’re distributing the drugs.”


	8. Chapter 8

“So, it’s Crowley,” Dean said, pacing around the master bedroom as Castiel sat on the bed, flipping through the crime scene photos Charlie had texted them. “He’s putting the drugs that he’s making into these golf balls and selling them to ‘VIP members’ -” Dean used finger quotes, “ - which is bullshit, and then he rakes in the dough.”

It was so obvious - Dean was kicking himself that he hadn’t considered the country club as a source distribution before, and now another person was dead because they hadn’t solved this case fast enough. 

“So, what - we go bust him now, right?” Dean turned to Castiel, who still hadn’t said anything as he flipped through the phone. “Cas?”

Castiel rubbed a hand across his face and let out a breath. 

“Crowley doesn’t make sense.”

Dean’s jaw dropped. 

“What do you  _ mean?” _

Castiel pursed his lips and he leaned back on the bed. 

“He makes enough money from the country club. Why would he sell drugs?”

Dean scoffed. 

“Rich people always want to get richer. I don’t know. How could it  _ not _ be him? Those are  _ his  _ golf balls.”

There was another few seconds of silence before Castiel shrugged. 

“I’m not sure. It’s just… a gut feeling. He doesn’t have any sort of background that would suggest he knows anything about drugs. How does he make them?”

“He pays people, duh.” Dean gestured at nothing. “This is a simple case, Cas. Let’s just get ahold of some of those golf balls, break ‘em open, and bust that place for having drugs. All done. We can get out of here.”

“That won’t be enough evidence, Dean,” Castiel said, his tone aggravatingly close to chastising. “I know that you hate having to be around me all of the time, but don’t let that cloud your thinking. Crowley can afford the best of lawyers. We need something solid, not something that he can pin on anyone working under him -  _ if _ it is him.”

Dean threw up his hands and clenched his jaw in annoyance. Just because he had  _ opinions _ didn’t mean that he wasn’t doing his job well enough - and of course Castiel would immediately blame him for anything not going they way he wanted. 

“Jesus. Alright, then. I’ll just shut up forever.” Dean stalked towards the door, pulling it open. “‘Night, Lieutenant.”

“Dean - “

Dean shut the door behind him.

***

Dean groaned as his eyes blinked open, the heaviness in his lids hinting that he was up  _ far _ earlier than he’d planned. Turning over, he saw the clock next to him show that it was almost two in the morning. 

Why was he awake?

The sound of the doorbell rang through the home, followed by a pounding from the front door. 

What the hell? Who was trying to get ahold of them at two AM? Dean rubbed at his eyes as he threw the covers off of him and sat up straight at the thought that maybe Charlie was trying to get ahold of them for some reason. Or, possibly, a worse scenario - the dealer had figured out who they were. 

Dean tugged on a t-shirt, slowly opened the door to the guest bedroom, and glanced up towards the top of the stairwell where the master bedroom was located to see Castiel - with absolutely awful bedhead - squinting towards their front door in tired curiosity. 

“I got it,” Dean murmured, just loud enough for Castiel to hear him. “Cover me if it’s a serial killer.”

Dean padded forward until he reached the front door and pressed his eye against the small hole to see Meg Masters standing on their porch, clutching at a duffle bag and chewing on her bottom lip. 

Dean let out a long breath, trying to think of any  _ possible _ scenario where it would make sense for her to be knocking on their door at two in the morning, and coming up with nothing except straight up murdering him in an attempt to steal his fake-husband. 

“It’s Meg,” he said, turning to shrug at Castiel.

“Meg?” Castiel repeated.

Dean nodded as he opened the door a few inches, peering out of the crack as he rubbed his eyes.

“Can we help you?”

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Meg said, sagging in what appeared to be relief. “Can I come inside?”

“Uh,” Dean hesitated, glancing up at Castiel, who only shrugged and started to make his way down stairs to join them. “Meg, it’s two o’clock in the morning. Why are you here?”

“Yeah, sorry it’s so late. I was wondering if, uh -” The grip on her bag tightened, and Dean frowned at the unfamiliar lack of bravado she was displaying. Maybe drunk Meg was polar opposite to sober Meg.“- do you mind if I stay here tonight?”

Dean blinked, trying to decide if he’d heard correctly or if his exhaustion was making him hallucinate the worst possible thing that she could say. 

“What? Why?” Dean opened the door a little more when Castiel came to stand behind him. 

“Meg, is everything alright?” Castiel asked, and Dean could hear the present concern in his voice that he hoped was just because he was a decent person, and not because he cared for her all that strongly. “You look… uneasy.”

“I just -” Meg cleared her throat and stood a little straighter, and Dean recognized the familiar posturing he’d seen at Donna’s birthday party. “- I’m sure everything’s  _ fine _ , I just thought I saw someone outside my window and I don’t want to take any chances, you know? Especially with everything that’s gone on recently.”

“Of course you can spend the night,” Castiel said, and opened the door wider, pushing against Dean’s grip on it. “It’s no trouble at all.”

“Did you call the police?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow at the story. He had a sneaking suspicion that she’d probably just made it up to get closer to Castiel. “‘Cause you should probably do that if you think there’s a peeping Tom around.”

Meg ran a hand through her hair and took a step forward when Dean consented to opening the door to let her in. 

“Of course I did, I’m not an idiot.” Meg rolled her eyes and dropped her bag on the floor as the door closed behind her. “They’re sending a patrol car to drive around and check things out, but I’d rather not spend the rest of the night alone in my house.”

Dean sighed. If her story was true, it was probably something he and Cas should take into consideration anyway, and it was just one night.

“Alright, I’ll get some blankets for the couch,” he muttered. 

“Couch?” Meg raised an eyebrow. “The last people here had a guest bedroom. Did you ax that already?”

Dean groaned internally, a lie already on his lips about renovating it into an office space, when -

“Of course we do,” Castiel said with a nod. 

Dean turned and shot him a glare. What was he  _ thinking? _ Inviting Meg to stay in the guest bedroom meant that she would know Dean had been sleeping there, and not with Castiel in the master. 

“Yeah, okay - I’ll just go get the  _ guest bedroom _ ready for her, I  _ guess, _ ” Dean said, emphasizing the words as he stared at Castiel until recognition dawned on his face.

“There’s not… trouble in paradise is there?” Meg asked, glancing between the two of them with interest in her eyes that put Dean on edge.

“No, of course not. Uh, Meg, let me show you where our ...bathroom is. And our kitchen, for if you get thirsty,” Castiel said, clearing his throat and placing a hand gently on her shoulder to guide her away.

Fucking hell. 

Dean ran a stressed hand through his hair as he walked into the bedroom and began furiously straightening the sheets and shoving the few valuables he’d kept there under the bed, though there wasn’t much he could do about the clothes in the dresser. He stepped back after a few moments and shrugged to himself. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

As long as Meg didn’t get too nosy, they’d probably be okay. 

Dean stepped back out of the room just in time to see Castiel and Meg coming back from the kitchen, with Meg smiling up at Castiel. 

“Room’s ready.” Dean jerked a finger over his shoulder and moving to stand next to the stairway. 

“Thanks, handsome,” Meg said, giving both of them a wave as she shrugged her bag back over her shoulder and opened the door to their guest room. “Thanks again. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“It  _ is _ the morning,” Dean muttered, once Meg had closed the door behind her. 

Castiel yawned and patted Dean once on the arm as he walked back up the stairs. 

“It is. And we should sleep.” 

Dean watched him climb up the stairs for a few moments and took a deep breath before following. He and Castiel had slept in the same room before during their time as partners on the force. Dean had taken a nap on the break room couch on multiple occasions after long shifts while Castiel did paperwork in the background. 

This was going to be different, and it was only because they were pretending to be married. 

It was all bullshit, of course. This shouldn’t bother him. He’d just sleep on the floor and call it a night - and the fact that they were sleeping in the same room would be irrelevant. 

Dean gritted his teeth when he heard Castiel’s voice in the back of his mind giving him a lecture on refusing to share a bed because he felt emasculated - but that _ wasn’t it. _ He’d shared beds with men before - slept with them, dated them, woken up with them, and made breakfast for them in the morning - the idea that he might even compare himself to the fragile masculinity of a straight guy was appalling. 

No, it had nothing to do with that. 

It had everything to do with Castiel. 

There had been a time during their partnership that Dean had considered… 

He shook his head and stopped that line of thinking in its tracks. 

Things had drastically changed, and now Castiel was a douchebag, so it didn’t matter. 

Castiel shut the door to the master bedroom behind them, locking it with a small  _ click.  _ The lock felt a lot more ominous than it actually was - they just needed to make sure that Meg wasn’t going to make a surprise appearance during the night. 

The master bedroom was enormous. Dean was pretty sure most of his entire apartment could fit in this space alone. There was a walk-in closet off to one side of the room, and a large king-sized bed was placed right in between two wall-to-ceiling windows on either side.

“Alright, well...” Dean eyed the closet, hoping that Charlie had supplied them with enough spare blankets to make himself comfortable on the floor. “Good thing there’s a lot of floor space.”

“Oh.” Castiel ran a hand through his hair. “Right.”

He  _ must  _ be tired. 

Unfortunately, the closet had a single blanket that looked just a little bit too small to cover all of Dean, but it would have to do seeing as the other option was stealing the blanket from Castiel. Tempting, but he’d probably pull rank or something, and Dean didn’t have the energy for an argument.

Dean grabbed the blanket, pulled a pillow off the bed as he passed it, and flipped the light off as he dumped his pile on the ground next to the opposite side of the bed that Castiel was sleeping on. 

“That doesn’t look very comfortable.” Castiel said with a frown. 

He still hadn’t gotten into bed. 

“Yeah, well.” Dean shrugged and pulled the blanket over the top of himself as he stretched out on the ground. “ _ Someone _ wanted to let a spider into our home and nest in our guest bed.”

There was silence for a few moments, before -

“ _ I  _ can take the floor, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes in the darkness and pulled the blanket tighter around him. 

“It’s fine.”

“But I was the one who let her in. I should -”

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean said, just wanting to get to sleep as soon as possible. “You’re the Lieutenant. Just take the bed.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Castiel said, and Dean could hear the confusion in his voice. “We’re equals. I keep telling you.”

_ Equals. _

The first time Castiel had used that word it had been like a shard of ice embedded in his gut, and every time he insisted on repeating it, it drove in deeper. 

Dean rolled over and propped himself up on a nearby wall as he glared at Castiel in the dim lighting. 

“No, we’re fucking not, Cas. Not since you ‘earned’ that promotion,” Dean said, feeling a little smug at Castiel’s frown. “So, stop saying that, and we can finish up this dumb mission, and get back to you shooting down my ideas and ignoring me.”

Castiel was staring back, the fingers on both of his hands minutely copying Dean’s quotations down by his sides, as if he was still internalizing that particular jab. 

“I didn’t think you would be bitter enough about my promotion to think I hadn’t earned it.” Castiel folded his arms against his chest. “I thought that you, of all people, would have been able to see that it went to the right person.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Dean said, “We both know that you took all the credit for the Carlson bust to make you look better.” 

“What?”

“ _ What? _ ” Dean mimicked. “Don’t play. That’s why you didn’t let me do the paperwork.”

“I didn’t let you do the paperwork because you were  _ exhausted, _ ” Castiel shot back, looking affronted. “And I made a good decision, because if I remember right, you went home and slept for twenty-two hours. I would  _ never _ exclude my partner from a police report.”

Dean squinted him, not quite believing it. This had been the foundation of all his contempt towards Castiel all the time, and there was no way he was completely off-kilter with it - was there?

“Then why did you  _ you _ get the promotion over me, huh?” Dean demanded. “Henriksen said you had a bust that tilted it in your favor.” 

“It was a different bust!” Castiel’s voiced raised slightly before he seemed to remember they had a guest that could potentially overhear them. “And I don’t know  _ why _ I was chosen over you, but it probably has something to do with your  _ recklessness _ in every situation you get yourself into.”

Dean shoved the blanket off of his shoulders and stood to match Castiel’s height. 

“You didn’t  _ used _ to care about that, you know.”

“I didn’t  _ used  _ to be your  _ boss.” _

“What happened to us being  _ equals?” _

Castiel threw up his hands in exasperation. 

“We are!”

“Then why are you so  _ fucking _ hard on me, huh?” Dean pointed a finger in accusation. “Nothing I do is  _ ever _ good enough for you. You don’t even look at me much at the office anymore - hell, this whole mission is the most you’ve talked to me in a year.”

“I’m only hard on you because I don’t want people thinking I’m playing favorites on my old partner!” Castiel groaned, dropped his head into his hands, and rubbed at his eyes. “And I don’t want you to get yourself killed from something I could have prevented.” 

Dean’s mouth opened, but closed again when he couldn’t figure out how to string the right words together. Why the hell was Castiel taking on  _ that  _ responsibility? Sure, he’d had a few scrapes in the past, but he always ended up fine. Castiel should know that by now. 

“That’s bullshit,” Dean said in a low voice. “ _ You’re _ bullshit.”

“Bullshit? It’s bullshit? How about  _ you  _ try sitting in an office knowing that  _ I’m  _ out on a case, throwing myself headlong into the first dangerous situation I see, with only some rookie cop to back me up?”

“It’s bullshit,” Dean snapped. “You dropped me the second you got promoted. Doesn’t matter why, that’s bullshit.”

Castiel opened his mouth to argue - and then dropped his head, and shrugged. 

“I know.” It came out sounding quiet, defeated. “I’m sorry, Dean.”  

His head was hung low, and he looked more vulnerable than anytime Dean had ever seen him. That was a low bar, of course. Castiel had been building walls around himself for as long as Dean had known him. 

For the first time in over a year, Castiel was admitting that most of Dean’s suspicions were right - that he avoided Dean, that he was especially harsh on him - and it didn’t make him feel any goddamn better. Because apparently, he’d just been doing it to try to keep Dean alive. All those lectures he’d been given, all the stuffiness and stick-up-the-ass attitude - it all felt pretty different, when Dean saw it through Castiel’s eyes.

And Castiel hadn’t messed with the paperwork on the Carlson case. Dean knew him well enough to see the truth in his eyes.

Dean ran a hand through his hair with a long sigh. 

“Yeah, well… I’m sorry I’ve been such a reckless dick.” He clicked his tongue once. “I’ll… try not to be, anymore.”

Castiel looked up, looking more relieved than Dean really thought was necessary. 

“Are…” Castiel fidgeted awkwardly where he stood. “... are we okay, then?”

Dean shrugged, trying to relax. This was stupid. 

“Yeah, we’re good.” He picked the blanket up off of the ground, before lying back down and tugging it over him before the awkwardness over this entire situation settled for too long. “Goodnight, Cas.”

There was more silence, and then the muted creak of the bed, signalling that Castiel had finally crawled into it and settled down. 

Or so Dean thought.

“Dean?”

Dean still hadn’t closed his eyes. 

“Yeah?”

“....this bed is ridiculously large.” 

“Awesome.”

“It’s practically two beds.”

“Wow.”

“Possibly even three.”

“If you’re being generous.” 

Dean waited for Castiel’s response, almost convinced that he’d let it go.

“Will you  _ please _ get off the floor?”

Dean sighed and pushed himself up off of the carpet, and tossed the pillow he’d stolen back into its original place on the bed.

Staring at the shape of Castiel’s body across from him, he realized it really would be easy to share and not touch. Not that it was a big deal, of course. 

It didn’t have to be a big deal. 

Dean slipped under the covers and rested his head back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling as Castiel faced the wall. 

“What bust was it, then?”

Dean licked his lips as he waited for the answer. All malice was gone from his voice - he just genuinely wanted to know when Castiel could have done something without him. 

“It was the other time I went undercover,” Castiel said after a few hesitant seconds. “About a month before they announced the promotion.”

“But you were with me on every case.”

“... remember when I said my grandmother died, and I left for a couple of weeks?”

Dean propped himself up on his elbow to glare at the back of Castiel’s head. 

“Dude. You could have told me.”

“I wasn’t allowed to.” 

Dean squinted, waiting for Castiel to turn over and talk to him face-to-face, but flopped back down when it didn’t seem like he was going to. 

“What was it?” Dean asked, staring up at the ceiling, only half-expecting an answer. “The other undercover case?”

He’d already woven together a few different possibilities, ranging from terrorist cell organization to birthday clown infiltration, but he was pretty sure that the truth would make for a much better story. 

“I was just supposed to buy drugs from a gang leader while I was wired. Once I caught him exchanging money on camera, the rest of the squad was supposed to make the arrests.”

“That’s a lot of ‘supposed to’, there,” Dean noted. 

“Because it didn’t quite work out that way.” Castiel’s voice was tight as he spoke. “A rival gang burst onto the scene, thought I was one of the others, and I ended up locked in a basement for a week and half.”

“ _ Shit _ . Are you serious?”

Castiel hummed. 

“I think they knew after the first day that I wasn’t in with the gang, but I think they must have liked the entertainment of having someone they could try and terrify.”

“Did they hurt you?”

Castiel’s silence was answer enough.

“...what happened?” Dean whispered. “How’d you get out?”

“I waited for a rescue, mostly.” Castiel’s voice had grown even softer. “I stared at the locked door every day and hoped that someone would come bursting through it to take me to safety, but it never happened. So, I ended up taking things into my own hands and ambushed someone as they opened the door, stole their gun, and ran.”

“Whoa.”

“It was mostly luck.”

“I’m amazed you didn’t get promoted to Captain, honestly.”

“Oh, please.” Castiel huffed out a breath of air, and most of the tension from the story seemed to disperse for a moment. “But I - I spent a lot of time wondering if I was going to die. Got intimately familiar with the concept of it, and I know for a fact that it’s something I never want you to have to experience for yourself.”

“Cas, I -”

“I don’t think you really believe you can die, Dean.” The words fell sharply against him. “That’s why I worry so much.”

Dean pressed his lips together tightly as he let the words mull around in his head for a few moments. Death wasn’t necessarily something that he thought about a lot. It came up every once in a while, of course, usually because of Sam or Castiel, but that didn’t mean he spared it a lot of mind. 

Even when he was gambling, he knew the odds, and he felt comfortable knowing he was probably right. 

“I didn’t know,” Dean murmured. “I’m... sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Castiel shifted, tugging on the covers a little. “It’s not like you would have cared anyway.”

“Yeah... I would have.” Dean said, not bothering to lessen the impact of the confession with a joke or a lie. “I cared about you a lot when we were partners, Cas.”

He licked his lips.

“Still do.”

“... oh.”

“Even if you’re an ass sometimes.”

Castiel chuckled, and Dean considered that a win.

“Well.” Dean settled himself back against the memory foam and shut his eyes. “Anyway.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night.”

Dean ran his fingers anxiously against the bedsheet and chewed on his lip as one last thing tapped against his lips, begging to be said. 

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I kissed you without asking. At the party.”

“Oh.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for him to say something else - anything else - to ease the immense stress the silence was giving him. 

“It’s okay, Dean. I didn’t mind. I knew we’d probably have to, eventually - for the case.”

He exhaled. 

“Okay, great. ‘Cause that kiss really sucked and I just want to make sure you know that I usually can do a lot better when I’m not pissed.”

“As first kisses go, it wasn’t bad.”

Dean snorted and adjusted his pillow. 

“You must have had some  _ really _ shitty first kisses, then.”

“No.”

“Psh. Don’t lie, dude. There’s no way all of your first kisses were spectacular.”

“No, I just haven’t had any.”

The sentence took a few moments to hit him, but Dean squinted over at the lump on the far side of the bed that was Castiel as he internalized it. 

“What? You’ve never even kissed anyone?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Dean asked, nearly aghast. 

Castiel was a good-looking guy, not that Dean would ever admit that to his face. Dean had been the personal witness of at least six people giving Castiel their number in coffeeshops they stopped at during shift breaks - it wasn’t like he was lacking options. 

“It’s never come up.” Castiel’s voice sounded tired, not physically, but like the topic itself was tiring. “I only want to kiss someone I love, and I don’t fall in love often.”

Dean blinked, but he supposed the logic wasn’t unreasonable. He definitely saw the appeal. Dean himself had  _ cared _ about most of the people he’s kissed in his life, but  _ love  _ was a stretch. Love was one of those things you read about in stories and saw in movies. Love was that “oh shit” feeling you get when you look at someone and you just  _ know  _ that you could spend the rest of your life together. If he waited for every time that had happened to him - if he waited for  _ love  _ \- he might have never kissed anyone either. 

To each their own, though. Castiel didn’t seem to think he was missing out on anything, so why should it matter?

“So, have you been in love before?” Dean couldn’t resist asking. This wasn’t a topic they’d ever really breached while they were partners - besides Dean egging him on to text some of the numbers he’d received, while Castiel only smiled as he threw the numbers away. 

“... yes.”  

“Oh yeah? Who was it?”

“I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s alright.” The sound of Castiel’s voice was interrupted with a yawn. “It’s late, and it was a long time ago.”

Well, Dean knew a ‘back off’ tone when he heard one. 

“Alright.” Dean cleared his throat. “For the record, anyone would be damn lucky to have you in love with them.”

“... goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, Cas.”

The rest of the night, while completely silent, wasn’t as awkward as Dean thought it would be.


	9. Chapter 9

By the time Meg finally woke up, Dean and Castiel had already cooked a breakfast consisting of several omelettes - Dean’s specialty - and lots of bacon. 

“Good morning, Belle,” Dean said as she walked in, pushing a plate of food in her direction. 

She scratched at her hair as she sat down opposite him, smiling in her usual way towards him that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“If I’m Belle, does that mean you’re the Beast or the candlestick?” 

“It means you’re staying in a castle that doesn’t belong to you,” Dean said, and winced when Castiel nudged him with his elbow as he sat in the chair at his side. “But how did you sleep?”

“Fine and dandy, thanks for asking.” Meg began helping herself to the food. “What about the both of you? I thought I heard some raised voices last night - and not the sexy kind.” 

Dean glanced over at Castiel, who’d chosen that particular moment to take a long sip of his coffee. 

Most of the morning had consisted of Castiel not making eye-contact with Dean and only talking in sentences that consisted of a few words. Sure, he wasn’t usually much of a talker anyway, but it sure seemed to Dean that something about the night before still seemed to be affecting him. 

That was fair, of course. Dean himself was still trying to grapple with the idea that Castiel had never actually thrown him under the bus the get a promotion, and that he’d only been treating him like shit to protect them from any favoritism complaints. 

That one still stung a bit, if he was honest. 

“It’s just stress, Meg,” Dean said. “We’re not used to hosting.”

Meg shrugged. 

“Yeah, I can tell. You need to hire a maid or something to make beds, because mine looked like it had been made in a hurry.”

If there was a pointed tone in her words, Dean ignored it. 

“Do you need us to walk you home at all?” Castiel said, speaking up for the first time that morning. 

“Nah, I’m good.” Meg shoveled more omelette into her mouth. “The cops called to say they didn’t find anyone hanging around, so I think it’s all okay. I’m just… paranoid, I guess.”

“I don’t blame you,” Castiel murmured. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but last night wasn’t pretty.”

Dean clicked his tongue and shook his head. 

“A looot of drug usage in this part of the city, apparently,” Dean said. “ _ You  _ don’t happen to -”

Before he could finish, Meg reached into her bra and pulled out bronze coin with a roman numeral II  stamped on it. 

“Two years clean, Mike. I don’t plan on fucking  _ that _ up anytime soon.” She pushed her plate away as she tucked the coin back where it came from. “That’s why I stay away from the country club. Something sketchy is going on in there.” 

Meg stood and gave them a half-assed salute as she walked backwards out of the kitchen. 

“Well, it’s been fun. Thanks for letting me chill here.” She cleared her throat. “And let me know if you… need anything, or whatever.”

Dean raised his own cup of coffee to his lips to prevent himself from talking. 

“We will,” Castiel said with a smile. “Thank you, Meg.”

Meg waved one last time, grabbed her bag from where she’d left it in the hallway, and then the front door slammed shut. 

“Weird,” Dean muttered, and tossed the rest of her unfinished food into the trash. “And not really what I was expecting.”

“I told you she wasn’t all bad,” Castiel said, a small smile playing on his lips. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean glanced over at him, hair rumpled, the sun shining on him from their kitchen window while nursing a cup of coffee. 

It was kind of… adorable.

At least, he’d think that if they were married for real.

***

“Charlie, would you say that it’s a good or bad thing to let someone stay overnight at our house?”

_ “Uh, I’d probably go with bad.” _

“See? Hey, don’t -”

“Charlie, I have already apologized to him profusely and it won’t happen again. But this was an extenuating circumstance, and it worked out fine in the end.”

_ “Ooookay. Good to know. This person wasn’t on to you, were they?” _

“I highly doubt it. Dean and I are very good at what we do.”

_ “Right. Maybe keep an eye on them. Just in case. ‘Cause what you do is supposed to be each other.” _

“... thank you for that, Charlie. _ ” _

_ “No problemo. What are your plans for tomorrow?” _

“We’re headed back to the country club to do some more investigation.”

_ “Best of luck, lovebirds.” _

“... thank you.”

***

Every other day he and Castiel went to that damn country club, and every day it was exactly the same. They golfed, mingled with the rich people of the neighborhood, and sometimes went to different get-togethers in the evenings. 

The more they golfed with Crowley, the more suspicious he seemed, but it wasn’t necessarily because he said incriminating things - he was just kind of an asshole. But so were most of the people that lived in the neighborhood. 

Naomi, Dick, Becky, Chuck, Meg - everyone in this neighborhood, they all just… kept going. Kept going even though their “friends” had been dying recently by some unknown drug, and all the while, the golden golf balls kept getting passed around. 

Jody and Donna, however, were honestly lifesavers, and Dean wasn’t sure what he would have done if they hadn’t been in the neighborhood to help even out all of the crazy. As far and Dean and Castiel could tell, neither of them had VIP status, and they seemed to keep out of most of the drama that had been passed around. 

Some nights, Dean and Castiel would go have dinner with them at their home just for the fun of it, and sometimes they would host instead and Dean would spend most of the evening teaching Castiel to cook as they teased each other in the kitchen. 

That was another problem. 

He and Castiel were getting… startlingly domestic. 

Ever since they’d had the talk about what had happened between them, there was a noticeable change that had taken place in their mechanics. Nothing  _ huge _ per say, but now that the elephant had left the room, there was a lot more space for them to move around in. 

Wires were crossed that shouldn’t be crossed.

Dean scratched at his nose as he sprawled out on their couch and pulled up as many articles on Fergus Crowley as he could find, determined to find  _ something _ about him that could link him drugs. So far, all he had on him was a sketchy personality, a rich family, and expensive hobbies - none of which were helping his case. 

There  _ had  _ to be a reason that Crowley wanted this extra money. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Castiel had a point when he said that Crowley was already rich. He didn’t really need to risk getting arrested for selling illegal drugs that were killing people in order to stay afloat. There weren’t even any pending lawsuits against him that could potentially cost him money. 

The dude was rolling in it, drugs or no drugs. 

Maybe one of the employees was running the business without him knowing?

Dean tapped his chin as the thought came to him. It would be rough to run a business like that right under Crowley’s nose, but maybe it was possible?

If he could get ahold of a list of all of Crowley’s current employees, maybe he could be onto something. 

Dean glanced up from his research as Castiel walked past him towards the kitchen. 

“Hey, babe, can you grab me a glass of water while you’re in there?” Dean asked, and smacked his lips together. “I’m parched.”

Castiel paused, and looked over his shoulder at him with concerned look on his face. 

“Is… someone here?”

Dean frowned, and did a quick look-around. 

“Uh, I don’t think so. Why?”

Castiel only squinted at him and turned away as he walked into the kitchen. 

The sound of the faucet turned on briefly, shut off, and Castiel was back, slowly handing the glass to Dean as the curious look never left his face. 

“What?” Dean asked, feeling a little uneasy at the way Castiel was looking at him - like he’d just sprouted a third arm. “What happened?”

“You know you don’t have to call me that when we’re alone, right?” Castiel said, sounding cautious. “Method acting isn’t necessary.”

Dean took the glass from Castiel and set it on the floor next to him as he tried to think back to what Castiel was talking about. What had he just said?

He’d said,  _ Hey, babe, can you grab me a glass of water while -  _

Oh. 

Dean felt his heart stop for a brief moment as he stared back at Castiel, knowing exactly what it was he’d said wrong. 

He cleared his throat, taking the rope Castiel had given him to help himself out of the hole. 

“Right, yeah. Sorry.” Dean waved his hand and focused back on the computer screen in front of him while gathering absolutely no information on it. “Just figured I’d get in the habit of it.”

“Well… that’s… interesting.” 

Castiel’s face was a mask when Dean peeked back up at him, and cursed himself for letting something like that slip. 

_ Why _ had that even slipped? Sure, he’d been saying it more than usual, but it wasn’t  _ that _ much. 

Was it?

“Uh, thanks for the water,” Dean said with a smile and refused to look back at Castiel until he turned to leave the room a few moments later. 

_ Dammit _ . 

***

“Can we  _ please _ get massages this time?” Dean groaned as they walked towards the front desk by the golf course again. “I’m sick of golf.”

“No,” Castiel said sternly, turning the corner into the lobby. “We’ll get no investigation done that way.”

“We’re barely getting any done anyway,” Dean muttered, but didn’t say anything else about it. It seemed that those massages were going to be tantalizingly out of reach for his entire life. 

They continued forward, slowing down as they reached the front desk to find that, this time, there was no receptionist to greet them. 

“Maybe she’s on break,” Castiel murmured with a shrug. 

“Or in the bathroom,” Dean added as he scanned the area, and almost immediately zeroed in on the golden golf balls. 

The front desk wasn’t being watched, and the drugged golf balls were  _ right there.  _

“Hey, cover me,” Dean whispered and let go of Castiel’s hand, stalking behind the counter.

“ _ Dean,” _ Castiel hissed from somewhere behind him. “Stop! What are you  _ doing _ ?”

“Investigation work.” Dean climbed up on the counter, determined to reach the top shelf and grab the tube. “At least we’ll be able to prove where the drugs are coming from.”

“Get down from there  _ right now. _ ” Castiel’s whispering was getting more and more pissed, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to care - not when such an opportunity as this had landed right in their laps, “Someone’s going to see you!”

“There’s no one here.” Dean stood on his tiptoes and nudged the tube until it fell into his open palm. 

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Dean’s heart dropped at the sound of the voice that definitely wasn’t Castiel’s. It was too smooth, too silky, and too sleazy. 

He turned slowly, the tube in one hand as he turned to face Dick Roman staring at them from the doorway with a curious expression on his face.

“Oh, hey, Mr. Roman,” Dean said awkwardly, clearing his throat as he jumped down from counter. “I was just, uh -”

“Stealing?” Roman began meandering towards them, his hands in his pockets as he regarded them. 

“No, of course not,” Dean scoffed and attempted to lean against the desk as casually as possible. “We just got upgraded to VIP and didn’t want to wait for the receptionist to get our perks. I’m a very impatient person.”

Dean glanced at Castiel, who was staring back at Roman cautiously as the man walked forward. 

“A very specific perk you want there.” Roman raised an eyebrow and nodded at the tube in Dean’s hand. “Any particular reason why?”

“I’m a fancy bitch,” Dean tried with a smirk and a shrug. 

“Really?” Roman cocked his head in Castiel’s direction. “Who’s Dean?”

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head.  _ Fuck. _ They’d fucked it up. 

Roman cleared his throat gestured at the doorway. 

“George, if you could -”

A burly man in a suit stepped out into the room and walked to stand behind Roman, his mere presence emanating a threat level that Dean hadn’t planned on dealing with today. Dean glanced at Castiel, who looked like he was already trying to find the quickest exit.

“Now, let’s try this again,” Roman said with a sharp smile. “Who are you, and what are you doing with my property?”

“Yours?” Dean held up the tube of golf balls. “I thought this was Crowley’s?”

Roman shook his head slowly. 

“Crowley does what he’s told to do. With the proper motivation, of course.” Roman gestured at his bodyguard, who moved to Dean’s side and held out a hand. “If you could please hand those over?”

“Why?” Dean tried. “They’re just golf balls. You know I don’t think they’re made of  _ actual _ gold, right?”

There was movement out of the corner of his eyes, and a gun was now intimately close to his face. 

“Mr. Roman,” Castiel interjected, “this isn’t necessary. You’re a smart man, so you know who we are. You know that if you shoot a police officer, you’ll never escape jail time.”

Roman only chuckled and let out a long breath. 

“You underestimate what I can escape, then,  _ officer.” _

Castiel was desperate. Dean could see it in his eyes despite his seemingly calm outward nature at the moment. This was going to be a sticky situation, but this is where Dean  _ thrived.  _

The adrenaline had kicked in about thirty seconds ago and the familiar rush was back. A gun in his face? No big deal. Been there, done that. 

Dean took the distraction of Roman’s solid one-liner to chuck the tube of tennis balls in George’s face and slam his elbow down onto his forearm, knocking the gun out of his hands as he yelled in pain. 

It only took a second more for Dean to scoop up fallen weapon and cock it, aiming towards Roman just as he heard, 

“Dean! He has a -”

A gun. 

Roman calmly held a gun in Dean’s direction as Dean held one in return, switching his gaze between him and George. 

Okay, still no biggie. Roman wouldn’t do it. All he needed to do was stall for time until there was another opening that maybe Castiel could get to. 

“Your pharmaceutical company,” Dean said, his breath heavier than it had been a few seconds previously. “You mentioned it’s getting sued.”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Roman said, his smile dropping ever-so-slightly. “But that’s of no importance.”

“Bullshit,” Dean said, trying to keep his hand steady on the gun. “You’re getting sued, and you’re going under. That’s why you’re making the drugs, and that’s how you have access to people who can make them.”

“Do you want me to applaud you?” Roman said with a sneer, holding the gun up a hair higher. “Drop the gun, officer, or I  _ will _ shoot you.”

“No, you won’t.” Dean smiled and cocked his head to the side. “You know you’ll get crucified in court over shooting a cop.”

“You’re undercover,” Roman countered. “Do you know how easy it'll be to paint you as someone my security caught stealing and, well… accidents happen.”

“Dean -” Castiel said, but Dean couldn’t spare a glance right now. 

“I’m willing to gamble on this,” Dean said. “So, you drop your gun, and we can all talk about this civilly.”

Roman’s glare hardened as he cocked his own gun. 

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear.”

Roman slowly moved his arm, pivoting the gun from Dean, to a target that made his heart drop into his stomach in a way he’d never experienced before. 

Castiel.

“Drop. Your. Gun.”

The stakes were different, now. Gambling with his own life was easy. He’d done it a dozen times and he always came out on top - but the easy part was that if he ever guessed wrong, then  _ he _ suffered from his own mistake. 

This was a different life. 

This was  _ Cas _ . 

Castiel stared back at Dean, and never once looked at the gun pointed in his direction, though he seemed completely aware of what was happening. 

The gaze was intense, and Dean knew was Castiel wanted - it was what Dean had wanted just moments before. Castiel wanted him to gamble, and he wanted him to take the shot. Dean felt a hollow open in his chest. When the gun was trained on Dean, Castiel was all for being safe - but as soon as it was only his own life on the line, Castiel wanted to risk it.

“Dean -”

Dean’s hand wavered as he held onto Castiel’s gaze. It was pleading, accepting, and now he knew why Castiel was so terrified of his recklessness. He finally felt the terror of watching his partner standing in the line of fire, willing to roll the dice in a game where the stakes were his own life against success.

And he couldn’t stand it. Castiel couldn’t  _ die  _ here. Not today, in a freaking country club. It couldn’t be over now. Dean had always imagined them growing old on the force together, being a part of each other’s lives for years - maybe sniping, maybe fighting, but always  _ there.  _ Spending the rest of their lives together, in whatever way felt right, and -

Oh, shit.

It was in that moment - with Roman’s gun trained on Castiel - that Dean realized  _ why  _ he was never going to call the bluff, and why he was going to drop the gun. 

Because he was in love. 

It was easy to explain away the feelings he had when they were walking hand in hand, when they’d kissed, when it was all supposed to be pretend, but now - with Roman dangling a sword by a hair above Dean’s heart - he knew. 

He knew.

Dean slowly lowered the gun onto the ground and kicked it over to Roman, ignoring Castiel’s shouts of protest at the surrender, but none of that mattered now. 

The risk wasn’t worth it. 

“I thought as much,” Roman said with a smug grin. “George, if you could?”

And before Dean could do anything, something hard cracked against his skull, and the last thing he heard was the sound of Castiel shouting before the world went black.


	10. Chapter 10

A throbbing headache was what finally woke Dean up.

It was a dull pressure in the back of his head, where a giant goose egg had definitely formed in the time that he'd been unconscious.

Blinking slowly, Dean groaned when he tried to look up at the single light source in the room, and immediately dropped his gaze to a less painful place to look.

Dean took a deep breath in an attempt to focus through the headache and make sense of his surroundings. He was more or less completely immobile in what seemed to be a dark warehouse room of some sort, with thick rope tying his hands behind his back as well as wrapping around his chest to strap him to a large pole.

A quick tug against his bonds proved to be useless as the knots held fast, though there was the smallest amount of give as he tried to lean forward - almost like the ropes were also strapped around another person directly behind him.

“Cas?” Dean asked with a prayer in his heart, as the last thing he remembered was a gun being held at Castiel's head.

He held his breath as he waited for a response.

“You should have taken the shot.”

Dean let out the breath in relief as Castiel's voice came out low and rough from behind him. Dean shook his head, even though Castiel couldn't see it.

“Too risky.”

“Since when have you cared about risk?” Castiel's voice was incredulous. “That's what you're _known_ for. Taking the risk to maximize the outcome.”

Dean closed his eyes, trying to block out the memory of the threat - of the panic he'd felt through the familiar rush of adrenaline.

“I could have missed,” Dean said softly, “and then you would have been done for.”

“You wouldn't have missed,” Castiel said. “I've seen your accuracy rates. You thrive under pressure.”

Dean dropped his head down, resting his chin on his chest as he gritted his teeth.

Castiel was right. Usually, he did. Time would slow, and everything would seem so clear, and whether or not the risk was worth it didn't matter. The _risk_ was the fun part. But this time?

“It wasn't worth the risk, Cas.”

Dean felt them both freeze at the sound of muttering outside of a door that must have been behind Dean, because there wasn't any that he could see.

He strained, trying to listen in on a conversation that he could only catch bits and pieces of.

“ _\- gonna get rid of them?”_

_“- they'll disappear all right -”_

Dean sagged against the ropes.

“Hey, Cas?”

“... yes?”

“I'm glad we could do one more case together.” Dean said, smiling a little, just to himself. “And I'm sorry that we hated each other for so long.”

There was another heavy pause as Dean waited for Castiel's response.

“I never hated you,” Castiel said softly.

“Oh.” Dean cleared his throat awkwardly, because it sure had seemed like it was a mutual thing for quite a long time. “Well, just me, then -”

“I loved you.”

Dean froze, staring at the blank grey wall ahead of him in stunned silence as his mind went into overdrive.

Loved?

They'd had fun being partners on the force - best friends, even - but _love…_ someone like Castiel wouldn't fall in love with someone like Dean. Especially since Castiel didn’t fall in love often - what are the chances it would be him?

And yet -

There were the soft smiles. The looks of fondness that he'd only catch a brief glimpse of. The unfair overprotection. The unwillingness to gamble with Dean’s life. The sense that Dean had had, all this time, of something tying them together - of some reason they were significant to each other, even though from the outside it looked as though before this case, everything beyond simple professionalism had been over between them.

In a moment, Dean felt everything fall into place. The shift was sudden, heartbreaking.  

“You -” Dean managed, struggling to find the words. “You loved -”

“I still do.” Castiel interrupted. “And I figure we have roughly an hour left at most before they come in and kill us, so I might as well say it.”

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” Dean said in a tight voice.

“I assure you, I'm very serious.” Castiel said, almost matter-of-factly. “And I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, but that won't be much of a problem soon anyway.”

“You've been in love with me this _whole_ time, and you choose a moment when my hands are _literally tied_ to tell me?” Dean growled as he yanked on the ropes in frustration. “Dammit, Cas! I couldn’t have gotten my head out of my ass a whole lot sooner!”

“... what?”

“Yeah, asshole. I love you back.” Dean clenched his teeth together as he strained against his restraints in a final effort, but to no avail. “This timing is just _fantastic.”_

“You… too?”

Dean could hear the shock in Castiel's voice, which was almost hilariously juxtaposed with how easily he'd confessed. Was it really that hard to believe?

He sagged against the pole, and found that if he leaned his head back he could rest it against Castiel.

“Yeah,” he brushed his fingers against Castiel's. “I'm sorry that it took faking it for me to realize it.”

Castiel's fingers could barely interlock with his, but it was enough for now. They sat in silence, unmoving, Dean just enjoying the sensation of Castiel’s touch - not James touching Michael, now, but Castiel touching Dean.

“I guess... I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.” That disbelief was still there in Castiel’s voice.

“Guess we're both a couple of dumbasses,” Dean said, closing his eyes in the face of the bright light above him, feeling unusually happy for someone that was about to sleep with the fishes. “Do you think they'll let me kiss you before they kill us if I ask real nicely? I only got to do it once and that was because of _fucking Meg -”_

 _“_ Oh, is _that_ what that was?” Castiel said, and Dean could hear a smile in his voice. “I did wonder…”

“Alright, don't get all smug on me,” Dean said with a grin. “Don't let your last emotion on earth be _smug.”_

 _“_ Too late for that. The great Dean Winchester was _jealous.”_

 _“_ Do you think they can hurry up with the ‘killing us’ thing now?”

Dean had heard of gallows humor before, but never truly understood it until now.

The muffled murmuring that he'd been hearing in the background ever since he woke stopped suddenly, before continuing in lower tones.

Shouting started, with different voices than he'd heard before - higher-pitched than the two men and with more authority.

“What's happening?” Dean whispered, seeing as he was the one facing away from the doorway.

“I - I don't -”

There was a loud banging noise as the door burst open - or at least, Dean assumed the door opened - followed by a -

“Clear!”

“Donna?” Castiel said in surprise, and Dean craned his neck to try and see behind him.

 _Donna_ was here?

“What did you knuckleheads get yourselves into?” Donna said as she put her gun into its holster and pulled a pocket knife from her pocket. “You should have told your handler you were about to get messy.”

Dean gaped as the knife cut into his bonds to free them.

“You're undercover, too?”

Jody stepped into view, gun at her side as she knelt down in front of Dean and scrutinized the wound on the side of his head.

“No, we just live here,” Jody said, looking a lot angrier at the situation than Donna did, “but your department didn't bother to tell us about this operation for some _completely unknown_ reason.”

“I'm sure they just wanted to keep things tidy,” Donna said, resting a hand on Jody’s shoulder before helping Dean to his feet. “Though they really _should_ have told the FBI that an undercover investigation was happening in some of their members’ neighborhood. We could have helped.”

“How did you find us?” Castiel asked, holding out his wrists so the rope around the, could be cut loose.

“Meg and Charlie. But, honestly we've been keeping an eye on the old country club of Crowley's ever since we suspected foul play,” Donna said, freeing Castiel of the ropes. “Your handler called us after you missed your check-in and wanted to know if we knew anything. Meg mentioned she’d seen you go to the country club, and after a bit of snooping, Charlie managed to get your location from your phones and send it to us.”

Dean rubbed at his eyes as his brain tried to make sense of everything that had just happened.

Jody and Donna were FBI. He and Castiel were safe. Cas had said that -

Dean turned to look at Castiel, who also seemed a little overwhelmed at the situation, but who was keeping remarkably cool.

Like always.

Castiel and his stupid ability to keep everything inside.

“Is everything secure?” Dean asked, keeping his eyes locked on Castiel.

“Yep.” Donna said. “We cuffed the two up front, and the rest of this place seems abandoned.”

“Good.”

Dean walked the few steps forward toward Castiel, his intent written in every movement. Castiel’s eyes widened, then flicked to Dean’s lips right before Dean reached out to do what he should have done a long time ago.

Hand gripping the back of Castiel's neck, and the other pulling him close by the waist, Dean pressed his lips against Castiel's, kissing him like they were the only two people in the room.

Castiel’s lips were soft at first, hesitant, like he was giving Dean an opportunity to stop and back out if he wanted to - which wasn't fucking happening in a million years, and it wasn't until Dean’s grip slid upward to push his fingers through Castiel's hair that he started to open up.

Dean was the world’s biggest idiot for not letting himself have this earlier.

Without realizing they'd moved, Dean found himself pressing Castiel against one of the walls in the small room, thrilled that he was allowed this instead of dying - and by some miracle, would probably be able to kiss him again, and again.

A throat cleared loudly behind them.

Dean pulled back, resting his forehead against Castiel's briefly before glancing back at Jody and Donna abashedly.

“I hate to break up the theatrics,” Jody said with an eyebrow raised, “but we've both got people we need to report back to.”

Castiel coughed and gently moved Dean aside with a little effort.

“Apologies. We, uh - we didn't think we were going to be alive much longer, just a few minutes ago.”

“Oh hun, no apologies necessary,” Donna was beaming at them as she slipped the knife back into her pocket. “But we do have two suspects in cuffs with backup on the way, so we do need to get a move on.”

The faint sound of sirens blaring in the distance finally convinced Dean to take a small step back from Castiel, smiling softly at him.

They'd have time.

Castiel smiled back and Dean nodded himself.

Yep. They'd have time.

***

“So, in your words, what the hell happened?”

Dean leaned back against his chair with a long sigh and glanced over at Castiel before answering.

“Well, Captain, we caught the dude, and you're welcome.”

Dean winced when Castiel elbowed him lightly.

“I'm sure the Agents Mills let you know about the foul up at the end, and we take full responsibility for that,” Castiel said matter-of-factly, lacing his hands in front of himself.

“Uh, what he _means_ to say is that it was _my_ fault,” Dean interjected. “I'm the one who got us into that situation so any consequences for it should go to me.”

“It was a team effort, Captain.”

“No, it was definitely -”

“Detective and Lieutenant!”

The two of them stopped their bickering and ducked their heads when Captain Henriksen raised his voice.

“I recognize that standing up for each other is a huge improvement for you both, but you're not getting disciplined for what happened.” Captain Henriksen made a motion with his hands. “So, if you could please continue with the facts?”

Castiel cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Yes, of course sir. After the Agents’ rescue operation was a success, we interrogated the the two men that had been holding us and found that Crowley wasn't the ringleader, like Dean and I originally thought.”

“Like _I_ had thought,” Dean muttered. “Castiel knew something else was up.”

“Unimportant, Dean.”

“The drugs _were_ being trafficked through Crowley’s country club,” Dean interjected. “They were sealing bags inside of the golden golf balls to move them without people getting suspicious.”

Castiel nodded as Dean finished his point.

“Right. But the only reason Crowley was allowing his country club to be used as a drug outlet was because he was being blackmailed by Dick Roman, who needed a way to make money since his pharmaceutical company was going under for fraud.”

“What was he being blackmailed with?” Captain Henriksen asked. “Something we should look into?”

“There's a whole Flickr album that you do _not_ want to see, sir,” Dean said with a grimace, as he'd been trying to wipe his mind clean of it for the past couple of days.

“Duly noted.”

“And now you should have enough evidence to arrest Roman,” Castiel finished, with a satisfied look on his face.

Captain Henriksen nodded at the end of the briefing and sat back in his chair.

“Good work. Both of you.” Captain Henriksen laced his fingers together and raised an eyebrow. “Now, about the… change between the two of you.”

Dean braced himself for an onslaught. When he and Castiel had realized what they'd felt for each other - or when _Dean_ had realized he'd been blind for years - they'd decided they'd had enough secrets. Being open about each other had felt nice, even when it had been pretend, and Dean didn't want to have to be secretive about this.

“You're sure this isn't just because you've been undercover as a married couple?” Captain Henriksen asked. “Because that wouldn't be unreasonable.”

Dean glanced over at Castiel, who was smiling at him in a way that made his heart and any defensive arguments he was going to say melt away instantly.

“Without getting too personal… I've felt this way for years, Captain,” Castiel said, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. “No soul searching needed on my end.”

Dean felt a blush give him away as he cleared his throat and smiled down at his shoes.

“Uh, yeah. This is real and stuff.”

“Well then, congratulations.” Captain Henriksen nodded in their direction, and Dean knew him well enough to see a hidden smile. “Don't let it interfere with work.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.” Dean winked as he reached out and threaded his fingers though Castiel's, holding tightly. “Are we dismissed?”

Captain Henriksen waved his hand at them and leaned back in his chair, dismissing them without a word.

Dean and Castiel stood, hands still clasped, and left the captain's office; Dean pulled Castiel down an empty hallway.

“So.” Dean tried to squash his dopey smile, and didn’t succeed.

“So.” Castiel didn’t seem to be doing much better.

“For years, huh?” Dean teased, squeezing Castiel's hand. “That's fun.”

“You _know_ that,” Castiel said, shoving Dean's chest with a huff. “That's not new information for you.”

“Still.” Dean shrugged, and cleared his throat. “And it's real?”

Castiel let out a long breath and rolled his eyes.

“ _Yes,_ it's real, Dean.”

“Okay, because you can tell me if -”

Castiel pulled Dean into a kiss, effectively cutting off any arguments to the contrary - and Dean was more than happy to comply.


End file.
